


The Everlasting

by jendavis



Category: Leverage
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not really the end of the world, it just looks that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to cybel for the awesome cover art! Also, there's a fanmixy soundtrack thing I made over [here](http://jendavis.livejournal.com/63468.html#cutid1)!

  
They tried to talk him out of it, and when that failed, they tried to bust him out instead.

Nate knew what was up the moment Eliot and Alec came in with the other new prison transfers, and he followed them a week later through doors Parker unlocked, and went with them out to the transfer van Sophie had waiting in the garage.

And then he slipped back inside, pulling the door shut behind him, and giving them no other option but to leave without him.

He was moved to a more secure facility first thing the next morning, stubborn bastard.

\---

"It's the only way to clear my name," Nate explained, regarding them all stubbornly from across the bulletproof glass of his new home. He looked tired.

Alec didn't have much sympathy, really. He'd been up all night, _again_ , trying to come up with a plan, _again_ , that might keep them from falling apart just a little bit longer.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Eliot glared at Nate. "It ain't like you've never used an alias, and it's _not_ gonna work." He spun on his heel again to resume his pacing the length of the tiny visitor's room, and on the other side of the glass, Nate rolled his eyes.

"It's not the same," Sophie said, her voice quiet, like she understood something the rest of them didn't get. She hazarded a quick glance in Eliot's direction, briefly, but she wasn't the only one in the room with eyes on the door.

After that, there wasn't much else to say, and not even Parker bothered to try. Nate was gone, and for a while, there, it seemed like the world was about to end.

A few weeks later, it really did.  



	2. Chapter 2

  
_It happened on a Tuesday morning._

Alec woke up to find that the power had gone out, all down the block, and then his computer wouldn't turn on. Or the laptop. Or the other laptops, but it wasn't until his cell wouldn't turn on that he started to panic.

It was bad enough that it took him half an hour to remember the battery operated walkman he still had in the back of his closet. He had to scrounge batteries from a flashlight, but he got it working, relieved when he heard the static between stations.

The relief only lasted for half a second after managing to tune into one of the stations.

"...confirmed, a nuclear explosion, several hundred miles over the continental United States, has resulted in an electromagnetic pulse, wiping out electronic devices across the country. People are advised to stay in their homes, and to take precautions when venturing outside, as riots are already underway. Already looking for a solution, the President is working with congress to enact martial law, and as it has been declared a public emergency, National Guard units are currently being deployed…"

  
That had been three months ago, and not much had improved since. The cars that had been running, and the emergency generators that people had rushed to buy or steal, had mostly run out of fuel. Fighting had broken out at the gas station when it was revealed that the pumps were all digital, that first week. That second week, the station a few blocks down had taken down half the block when it burned to the ground after someone had tried to create a manual line to the fuel. Nobody knew about it in time, and there really hadn't been anything anyone could've done, anyway.  The smell hung over the city for weeks, afterward.

People had been saying that EMPs were nonfatal, and they hadn't been wrong, not entirely. Alec didn't know until later, but Mr. Varner, down on the corner, had worn a pacemaker, and he'd only been part of the first wave. It got worse. Water treatment was a problem. The hospitals had been set back a hundred years without any training for the new conditions, and food supplies were running low. Everywhere, as far as he knew.

Nobody, not the military, not the police, and not the citizens, had been ready to face off against each other, but it hadn't taken anyone very long to adjust. The guns were the one piece of technology still working, and that portion of the black market had become one of the more profitable areas of the new economy. Nobody, on any side, could keep up with demand.

It had started as an uncoordinated attack, one among thousands, but it just never stopped.  The attacks grew into a series of border skirmishes for the military to police, but the gangs were winning, block by block. 

The warring had become just something to take into account, like the weather, or the constant debates about how the hell anyone was supposed to survive into the next week, where people were supposed to go.  One night, around four in the morning, Alec had managed to dial into a report about seriously high levels of radiation poisoning the hell out of Nebraska.  

A day or two late, the signal was lost for good. People didn't talk much about trying to escape the city, any more, after that.

None of it mattered. If there was anywhere to go, there was no way to get there.

\---

The worst of it, Alec thought bitterly as he glared across the overcast street, was that on the other side of the ocean, it was business as usual. The US was in purgatory, and the rest of the world was watching it on TV with the same attention that he'd watched every major disaster in the past ten years. Tsunamis and earthquakes and too many deaths. Better to change the channel, find something more entertaining.

The new season of Doctor Who was probably continuing on, regardless. Maybe Sophie was watching it, if she was still in London. But it had been months since he'd heard from her. She could be anywhere by now. Hopefully far, _far_ away.

He finished re-welding the last bar to the doorframe and wondered if he'd pulled enough power through the roof's solar cells to cook dinner. The canned soup was too salty to start with, but cold it was worse. The family who'd lived on the corner had been well stocked, apparently expecting to survive all this for a while longer than they had. Maybe he'd eat the canned pears tonight, too, if he had the appetite.

Passing Nate's door on the way up the stairs, he thought about going inside, the way he sonetimes did. Decided against it. It was depressing, in there, sitting empty dark, with too may windows facing the street. At least up in his own apartment, he'd managed to black out the windows to the living room and kitchen. He could turn a light on, for a while, and none of the packs roaming the streets would know he was there.

On the third floor landing, he thought he heard a noise.  It was just the power, shutting off, but it sent the same chill down his spine as a ghost or a stranger staring back at him would have done.

He shook it off. He was the closest thing to a ghost this building had probably ever seen.

\---

Alec did what he could to stay sane. There was no information. No news, no nothing. No pizza delivery and no groceries, and for about eighteen hours a day, no power, and he was slowly going insane. It wasn't the internet or the phones that he missed, not really. Just the connection they provided. The ability to communicate with someone without wondering if they were going to try and steal whatever you had on hand.

He holed up in his apartment and tried to think of a thousand different plans. He reread all of his comics and used up his paints when the lights were on, and when they weren't, he sat in darkened windows and watched the streets below for signs of life. He rebuilt two computers and got one of them running again, but there was no way to get online, even via satellite. The EMPs had made sure of that, the radio had said, and there wasn't anything to connect <i>to</i>, anyway.

He tried to ignore the guns he had stashed in every room, ignored the chafing of the underarm holster that had looked cool at the army surplus, and tried not to think what he'd have to do with it if anyone made it up the stairs, or what it meant that he'd come to this.

Most nights, he listened to fights and shouts and screams in the streets, and in the mornings, he'd help move the bodies off the street and get them down to the park and wonder how many others, in the city, in the country, had died. How many were moldering behind closed doors.

He'd started visiting Mrs. Reese, the retired elementary school teacher across the alley, about two months ago. When the street below was quiet, he'd bring her some food, eat with her, talk about books or shows she'd liked. She'd seen her husband get shot down that first weekend, and as the weeks passed, he realized he was mostly going over there to bear witness as she ate less and less, watching her practice becoming nothing, and try to make arguments that fell on deaf ears.

She never talked religion, just about her grandkids, towards the end, when she'd been too weak to feed herself if she'd _wanted_ to, but it hadn't mattered. There was a bible by her bed, but he didn't know her denomination. The church down at the end of the block was taking everyone in, regardless.

Parker came around sometimes, slipping in silently through the window. Brought supplies in, sometimes, but usually, she just asked for news that he didn't have. The people in her neighborhood needed the same things as anyone, and they needed _her_ to get them. As far as Alec could tell, she didn't mind doing it, but she didn't like the attention it garnered, either.

She came, mostly, to hide, and never stayed very long. Sometimes she'd go to Nate's apartment and sit there, in the dark, for a while. Sometimes she'd eat with him, and sometimes she wouldn't. Sometimes she'd just sit there and stare into space.

Once, she asked if he knew where Eliot was, and when he'd said no, she'd asked why not, and he'd had to explain the entire thing. That with the crew falling apart, there wasn't really anything keeping the two of them together. That it just sort of happened, that it wasn't anyone's fault. She'd hastened to agree with him so quickly that he believed it just a little bit less, afterwards.

But Parker hadn't been around in a while. He was starting to worry. Not because he needed to, but because there was no one else worth worrying about, any more.  

He refused to think about Eliot. 

\---

Halfway through the second month, he'd walked down to the post office to find the woman behind the counter shot dead on the floor. The packages in back had been rifled through and emptied, someone scavenging for food, and there were thousands of letters piled on the floor, with postage stuck to them that meant nothing, anymore. Dead letters, dead information going nowhere. He'd known it was wrong, that the sight depressed him more than the bodies in the streets every morning did, but it had given him the first idea he'd had in weeks.

Alec Hardison showed up the next day, and the next, and fairly soon, he realized that this was what having a job must feel like. He'd collect the mail and whatever people brought in as postage, and sort through it, redistributing everything among the neighborhood kids who'd started hanging around.

Mica was the best of his mailmen. He'd been a drug runner, before, moving product between neighborhoods on the east side, but he had connections enough to get the letters through to the post office downtown within a few hours. Mica carried a gun on him and waxed sentimental about how much safer dealing drugs had been, but he brought in his crew to deliver to the local blocks and kept them in line. He was a good kid, and wasn't picky about being paid in food or batteries or whatever else was on hand.

\--- 

Alec had been sorting mail for three hours when he noticed the envelope addressed to him, from a prison in upstate New York. It was from Nate. Who was still alive. Writing to check up on him, asking about the others. Saying that Sophie was in England and doing fine. Joking about how apparently, prison is the safest place to be when the world goes to shit. Telling him to raid the stash in his apartment if he needed any cash or anything to trade, about a month and a half after Alec had already done so.

Alec meant to drop him a quick line to say he was alive. It was seventeen and a half pages long by the time he was done, and in Mica's waiting hands first thing the next morning, and Alec set to waiting for a response the moment Mica was out the door.

He never got one. His fingers itched for days, wanting to find out what happened. If Nate was okay, if the madness had crept in through the prison's walls to take Nate down as well.

 _He's fine,_ he'd tell himself at night. _They all are_. Nate, Sophie, Parker. No problems.

Eliot, though? Who the fuck knew?

\---  



	3. Chapter 3

_"I'm taking off tomorrow," Eliot said one night, not looking Hardison's way, but watching for his reaction in the window's reflection. "Got a gig out in Switzerland. Might take a while, but I'm just going to get rusty, sitting here."_

 _"Yeah," Alec nodded, not asking when he'd be back, never even looking up from his screen. He probably knew as well as Eliot did what this really was and wasn't about. He _had_ to know that it had been coming for a while, now, ever since Sophie left for Belfast and Parker went to Mars, or wherever it was that she went. Ever since Nate refused to come back._

 _Granted, it wasn't like transporting seven stolen paintings across Europe was likely to be relaxing, but it beat sitting around waiting for Hardison to make sense of the Nate's scrawled notes as he looked for a client, a case, a cause. Something to bring everyone back._

 _It hurt to watch, Alec wanted it so bad, but Eliot had used up all his arguments three days ago._

 _It was just sex, that night. Good, but nothing more, and they didn't talk much over breakfast the next morning. Alec probably had his reasons, and Eliot didn't want any words to make anything permanent._

 _No definitions, no promises, and it was just as well. A few days later, there'd been no way to live up to them._

\---

  
Once the job was done, Eliot left Zurich for Caracas. It was a good a place to figure out what came next as any. He was lonely, though. Mostly, it just felt like delaying the inevitable.

The job had been easy, if boring, and though the money was unimpressive, it was enough to buy the most top of the line laptop he could find. He didn't even realize, until he was checking his cell on the way to the register, that he was waiting for a call. That he was buying a peace offering, and that he hadn't even meant to set foot in the store in the first place.

It was probably worth it, though.

Alec had been clutching at straws to get the crew back together, and Eliot had bailed, simple as that. He had a lot to make up for.

When the phone eventually rang, though, it wasn't Alec, but Sophie, hysteric, and she was telling him to turn on the news.

Eliot didn't leave his hotel room for three days. He stared at the television until the glare burned his eyes, cursing the networks that were too stupid to tell him what he wanted to know. The reports said that the American border was closed, there was no getting in or out. With expected death tolls expected to roll up into the millions, it seemed that the main purpose of the news was to engage in finger-pointing. The usual suspects' greatest hits. Al Quaeda, the Taliban, everyone was trying to take credit.

None of the reports told him who still lived, or gave him anything useful.

For three days, he tried to call his sister, Hardison, even Parker, but all the lines were confused, not knowing whether to be busy or dead. It changed, every time. He refreshed the browser on Alec's brand new laptop every five minutes, but his inbox remained empty.

It was bright and sunny outside when he managed to find out that his sister and nephew, out in Nebraska, probably hadn't made it. It hadn't merely been the EMP that had struck. A warhead, somewhere in the atmosphere. Most of the deadly radiation was spreading from the Midwest, mostly to the west and north, into Canada. There was no way he wanted to see that. For the time being, the coasts were powerless but alive.

Unless they killed themselves off, first. Wars were breaking out, fires and shootings and bodies were lining the streets of most cities, the news said.

Parker was still there. She was probably alive. But Alec?

Alec was gone. Had to be. Even _he_ couldn't be that lucky. Or maybe lucky meant something entirely different, now, Eliot didn't know. But some information was getting out, slowly.

Somewhere, there were phones and emails and all that, and Hardison would be the one person in all the world who would know how to get it together to get a message out.

Four days later, Eliot still hadn't heard anything, and the not knowing was starting to drive him insane. But there wasn't a flight in the world that would go to North America right then.

\---

It took a week to make it through Panama and Guatemala and up into Cancun, and another week before he could get to Cuba.

It took him five weeks, all the cash he had, and Alec's peace offering, to get a space on a too-small boat headed for Miami via the Bahamas, and it wasn't a pleasant trip. Not only was the navigation equipment functioning erratically, something about the satellites being down, but the crew was insane, the seventeen other passengers mostly mad.

It took him days, and a good long look at his reflection in the window to realize that they weren't the only ones.

The trip, once upon a time, should have taken a few hundred dollars and less than a day. Nobody should have died en route, and he was pretty sure he should have recognized Miami when they arrived.

He heard seven rounds of gunfire before he'd even gotten off the boat, and wondered who it was that was shooting, and who they were shooting at. This, in all honesty, he'd been ready for.

He hadn't been ready to imagine Alec's bloodied skull crashing against the pavement with every crack echoing off the buildings. It was bad enough that it had probably happened, but it was worse to focus on, now, when he was far too late to do anything. All he could do now was try and decide where to go next.

Parker, and all her street smarts, might still be in Boston. Maybe she'd been there, when Alec went down. Maybe she'd kept him alive.

But Eliot's farm was where any chance at living would be.

He had hundreds of miles to go, yet, before he'd have to decide. Maybe he'd get a line through, hear something that would tell him where he was supposed to go, what he should do.

 _Maybe Hardison will send that fucking email_.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't.

\---

The nightmares didn't start until he was stateside, but they came with a vengeance. He dreamt about Hardison, fighting for the last of the food, about blood flowing, or that he was locked inside his apartment as some small infection slowly killed him. Saw him curled up on his kitchen floor, fading away into nothing, listening to the riot outside his door. In another dream, he just stared back at Eliot, reproach in his eyes, the words _we could have stopped this_ hanging in the air somewhere.

It was stupid, unfair, and Eliot knew it.

Alec wasn't much of a fighter, but he wasn't a wimp. And he could charm the pants off anyone, as long as he wasn't playing a role. And he was smart. And he probably had Parker, nearby.

Those two could take over the world, if they wanted, or at least what was left of it.

They were fine. They _had_ to be.

\---

Miami was a hellhole. Some things never changed.

He'd been through some shit, but not enough that he could bring himself to use the relief lines. They were too dangerous, a stupid risk. Getting crushed on the way in seemed to be directly followed by getting beaten half to death on the way out. He stayed for a few hours and tried to help out, made sure a few kids got back to their folks, but he was only one among many. There were just too many bodies milling about to even make a dent.

In the crowd, he got caught up though. Heard that some electricity had returned, intermittently, that some people had started stringing wires out and getting some basic lights and refrigeration working. And there was shortwave radio. There was communication, mostly set up by the National Guard. Several of the older-model cars still worked, though it was expensive as hell to get a ride, anymore, and it didn't really matter. There were too many vehicles already abandoned on the highway to get very far. It would have been comical that people were still trying, but for the bloodied dead bodies fallen on every main street, rotting in the hot sun.

The foot traffic was denser than he'd ever seen it, and most of the gaps in the crowd proved to be the wide berths people were still trying to give the corpses. He was at the edge of the crowd when he watched one boy shove another one into the body of a mustached man lying in the gutter. Everyone heard the sound it made, and everyone tried not to look.

He started heading north, and kept his eyes open.

It took a day or so, but it paid off when he found a bar that was still more or less functioning, even if the beer was warm. After that, it was just a matter of waiting, watching the drunks who actually had to talk to each other, instead of watching the television above the bar, for entertainment. There was a man in the corner with a guitar, he could almost even play it. And there were the usual games. Darts, pool. Cards were making a resurgence, and he edged in on a game. Played more carefully than he'd ever played, and left with no fuss, the proud owner of a crappy scraped up motorcycle with gas in the tank.

After two days walking, it was the best thing he'd ever ridden.

He stayed off the highways as much as possible, but passed people. Sometimes, they'd run, sometimes they'd stare back shell-shocked or dead-eyed. Sometimes, though, they'd actually talk. The usual things. People still talked about the weather. Or about how the cities to the north were dead and dying, overzealous deputies guarding county lines up the road, or another cult that had popped up in Tennessee, rumors of human sacrifice or suicide pacts. He'd tell them what he could, but it was never enough, on either side.

A month ago, they'd probably been receptionists, or mechanics, or factory workers, and now they were carrying guns and pointing them at anything that moved. Sometimes they were women shepherding children that might have been theirs, and these were the most dangerous.

Eliot knew how to move through hostile territory, though. Even when the exhaustion from sleeping around nightmares got to the point where his head was swimming.

\---

 _Andrew, the last doctor still working in the neighborhood, came in to the post office to see if anyone had tried paying for postage in medical supplies. He looked tired, and Alec said so._

"It's Cornelius," he said. "You know about him?"

"Heard the name. Rhonda and that guy she's with all the time. They were sayin' something about him the other day. Something about a play on the last relief shipment, right?"

"He didn't just make a play, he won. Big time. All of it, available for a price. Got the food, again, and the medical supplies, too, this time. Guys can owe him, and I bet you can imagine how that turns out. Women can pay his crew a little more directly."

"Directly meaning?"

"They're not calling it rape. They're coming in with- Well. A lot of things, saying they're fine because their kids are eating. Some of them are so used to it that you'd think they were coming in for a basic checkup, not..." Andrew sighed, shook his head.  "Anyway, have you heard any rumors that the blockade over on Morrissey's fallen?"

"Yeah, but I haven't tried going through. You thinking about it?"

"I'm hoping the campus health center might have some stocks that nobody's found. Antibiotics, Plan B, painkillers, vitamins. Any prescription drugs that might keep another few heart attacks at bay for another month." Andrew looked over his shoulder as he reached for the door. "You need anything?"

\---

A few days later, Alec heard that Andrew had died, trying to cross over. There was a funeral and everything, which was surreal. There'd been so many deaths that it was impressive that anyone had actually taken _notice_.  Andrew's death had actually rated, at least.

It was probably about as much as you could hope for, these days.

Alec wrote Nate again, that night. Told him all about it, about everything, like how if the team were here, they could take out Cornelius, fix some shit. He sorted it in the pile for upstate New York, shoved the packet in the bag for Mica, and only later wondered why he'd bothered writing at all.

About a week after the funeral, Andrew's clinic closed down. There weren't enough people to keep it running.

Nate never wrote back.

\---

Alec sat up on the roof and wondered if Mica would be returning that night with the mail from downtown. His neck was getting sore from stretching to look down the street, trying to see if he could spot him.

After the second or third hour, he realized he wasn't watching for Mica. He was trying to catch sight of somebody else stalking the pavement, with long brown hair.

Mica didn't show up until the next afternoon, setting the bags on the table and explaining that there'd been a shootout downtown. He'd been grazed, but had managed to bail out into an office building, where he'd fallen asleep. He seemed a little surprised that he was paid with two bags of food instead of one.

"For your trouble," Alec said, when Mica commented that usually, running deliveries, back in the day, twelve hours late meant some serious shit. "You've met your quota for gunshots already."

Mica had made it through okay, and he was good, but he didn't have half the game Eliot did. So where the hell was he?

\---

The motorcycle ran out of gas for good in South Carolina, and with no fuel in sight, he was going to have to leave it and look for a new one when he could. In the meantime, he went on foot.

He'd been walking for three hours, warily skirting the highway, when he realized that he was being followed. Two girls, both in their mid-twenties, by the looks of it. They never came closer than the length of a football field, but he could feel their eyes on him, constantly, for the rest of the day.

Around nightfall, he'd had enough. He stopped in the middle of the road. Sat down and drank some water, and waited for them to decide for them to scatter, or continue. Towards him.

He was a little surprised at how long it took, but then again, he hadn't managed to bathe in a few days, and the stubble had already turned to beard. He looked a mess, exactly the thing your mother thought of when she warned you not to talk to strangers.

Eventually, though, the girls came closer. Leah was the younger of the two, and blonde, and did all the talking. Susie, her friend, was dead eyed, with bruises on her face and neck that Eliot didn't want to think about.

"Where you headed?"

"Boston," Eliot replied, because he hadn't changed his mind yet, not in the past half hour or so. "What about you two?"

"Georgetown," Leah said, glancing sideways at Susie. "Hey, look. If you want, we could join forces for a while. Safety in numbers and all that."

"That's fine, but I'm planning on getting off this highway, real soon. You're welcome to come with me, but I'm heading up through the forest, along the edge. Rougher walking, but fewer people."

"Fewer resources, too," Leah shot anther look at her friend, worried.

"I can hunt, if it comes down to it, but we can get supplies on the way. Had some basic survival training when I was in the military, and have no problems with stealing from stores and empty houses."

The girls stepped away, to the side of the road, and had a heated conversation in hushed tones. When they returned, Leah only had one question.

"Why Boston? Is that home?"

"Might be," Eliot answered, and only then realized what she was fishing for. "I've got family there. A boyfriend." _At least, I might_ , he didn't add, because he didn't need to, and right then, it wasn't important. Not as important as getting them to trust him, because Susie looked like she was ready to go her own way, and didn't look like she cared what came next.

"Good enough for us," Leah said, and that settled it, more or less.

\---

"It's your birthday," Parker was waiting for him at the counter when he out down from the back office he'd turned into his home. As if to prove her point, she brandished a familiar looking wall calendar. It had been Nate's. "So happy birthday. Oh!" Shaking her head, she stooped down to pick up his present. A cooler, with two cans of orange soda inside. Not his favorite brand, but they was cold when he touched it. "Where did you-"

"There's actually a whole case, but they're in the refrigerator I scored. Found it in a corner at the thrift shop when I was out looting. Tried it on the off chance."

"How'd you move it?"

"In a wagon. It's one of those really small ones, like for hotel rooms."

"You still living at the school?"

"Yeah. Made a deal with the Kings, I procure some things for them, they've included the school in their turf." Parker pulled herself up to sit on the counter. Her hair was almost as short as Alec's now, but chunkier, like she'd hacked it off with dull scissors. "Even pushed out their border to give us a three block buffer on each side. They're cool. Well. You know. Few of them are talking about making a run on Cornelius, but they don't know anything about coordination, so we'll see what happens to the buffer when they start getting picked off..." Realizing she was rambling, she broke off and looked around.  "What's going on around here?"

"Yeah," Alec said, because he was still thinking about what she'd said. Blinking back into awareness, he shook himself. "Nothing much.  Hey, uh. Just how bad _are_ the Kings at coordination? I mean, they got it enough to expand their turf, right?"

"Against other gangs, but there's nobody that's got their numbers in the area. They're all even _more_ disorganized. Cornelius isn't."

"No shit. He's been getting in deeper, here, every week. So. You in?"

"What?"

"You, me, and a small army against Cornelius. What do you say?"

"I don't know," she said, but she was smiling, breaking out into a grin. "Wait. I do. Like, let's go steal us a black market, or something. Right?"

" _Damn_ right."

\---

Even with two others, the interstate still felt like a hunting ground, and the sooner they got off the main drag, the better.

It was a few miles up trafficless roads that he realized Leah was keeping herself between Eliot and Susie at all times. At first, he thought she was trying to pull, but as the miles wore on, it soon became apparent that she was trying to protect Susie.

There was no good way to ask what happened. Eliot wasn't sure he really wanted to know, anyhow. He had his suspicions. But in the end, he didn't have to. Leah, bolstered by half a bottle of wine from her pack, one night, checked that Susie was asleep, and told him.

"We met up about a week back at a truck stop. There were two guys, it was a bad scene. I had to shoot one of them to get them off of her. It's how we met. Because the world is fucked and we couldn't have met at the same high school. But she was a senior when I was a freshman. It took all this messed up shit, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I think the guy died. I don't know. I probably killed a man. That's fucked, right?"

"Yeah," Eliot shrugged, and raised the bottle in a toast before passing it back.

\---

They'd managed to hitch a ride on an overcrowded church bus that had probably been stolen, and managed four hours before the dead cars grew too dense to move around.

It was only another day later that they reached Georgetown. Leah was nearly giddy at the sight of it, and even Susie looked relieved. She invited him to her mom's house, saying that he was welcome to stay, maybe eat something, and sleep with a roof over his head for a bit, if he wanted.

It was a nice idea, though equally likely was the chance that he'd just be an awkward third wheel when they discovered that they had nobody left in the world.

Or he could keep going. So he did.

\---

It was easier to think when he was alone, but it was harder to _not_ think, and _that_ was becoming the problem.

He knew that by all rights, he should avoid Boston. He should go out to his farm, make sure it was still standing.

Maybe it was because he'd been living off oatmeal and bouillon and roadside weeds for the better part of a week, but he didn't even care, any more. Besides, if things were as bad as he thought they were, it would honestly be easier to finagle a route out to Europe. Get his cash, set up somewhere where money still had any value at all.

But that could take some time. It would be safer to head to the farm, get some things planted. Maybe get his dad's bike rebuilt. If he was _really_ lucky, he'd be able to find enough fuel to run it.

 _And maybe if the crew's alive, they'll have enough wits to come looking. Hell, maybe they're already there_.

In another day or so, he would have to decide if he wanted to start veering northwest, or keep towards Boston. He wished it was an easier choice to make.

\---

There were eight people, gathered at the bridge up ahead. They didn't look like one of the unofficial toll ways that had opened since the world went to hell, which was lucky, since he didn't have anything to buy passage with, hadn't eaten in a day, and didn't feel particularly like fighting them off.

He did slow down, though. There was only one guy standing guard, but he was holding the gun like he knew how to use it, and Eliot had already been spotted. The sentry gestured to the others, and Eliot suddenly found himself in the strange situation of having to accept a dinner invitation.

"I can't pay you," he said.

"Today's main ingredients are tuna and mayo," a woman said, brandishing an institutional sized tub. "We scored them off the loading dock at a high school the other day. Neither of these are gonna keep real well and there's no sense wasting food. And it beats whatever dried stuff you've got to be carrying. Let me guess. You've been living on rice and dried beans?"

"Oatmeal and bouillon cubes, mostly." Eliot grinned and sat down on the curb as introductions were made. He didn't relax, though, until he'd heard enough to confirm that there was no religious talk, just two families, sick of waiting to be saved.

"Heading to Florida," Edward said, and Miranda, his wife, explained, "We're hoping to find some land and get some things planted and grown before winter hits."

"You know plants?" Eliot asked, out of politeness, more than anything. It wasn't the first time he'd heard this.

Miranda shrugged. "Grew up on a farm. Mostly corn, but I've always kept a garden. Until the gangs decided they wanted to try out our garden for themselves," she grimaced. "But there's a longer growing season down south, if it comes down to it, and worst case scenario, it's the same messed up situation, but we won't freeze to death."

The lone teenager in the group, a kid by the name of Rory, rolled his eyes, and one of the younger girls kicked him and ratted him out. Siblings, then.

"What?" He rolled his eyes again. "Yeah. Like there's _no_ chance that everyone else in New York's having the same idea."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. It wasn't the first time anyone had thought it, and as much as they were all deliberately optimistic, it was already cracking a little at the seams.

"Are y'all at all flexible on your destination?"

"You know someplace better?"

"Got a farm about three days northwest, and no plans to go there," Eliot shrugged. "It's yours if you want it."

"What?" Miranda asked, as Rory chimed in with "What's wrong with it?"

"Weeds've probably taken over the yard, but other than that? It's out in the middle of nowhere. There's no finding it by accident."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I spent the first eighteen years of my life there," he said, because _I was on the market for an isolated, secure hideout in case the heat got too much_ sounded about as dubious as it actually was. "Anyhow, the pantry's stocked with non-perishables, and there's plenty of seed in the garage. Don't know if you got anything better down in Florida, but you can have it if you want."

"If it's so great, why aren't you there?"

"It's a lot of work for one guy, and I've got to find out if my family's up the road."

"What's the catch?"

Eliot gave it some thought, realizing dimly that this was probably not the most well thought out plan he'd ever conceived. It wasn't the kind he would've even considered, back when he'd bought the place.

"There's an Indian motorcycle in the garage, almost completely rebuilt. I'll come get it when I can. Other than that? I don't need anything there. Soon as I find my family, I'm leaving the country again."

Eliot took the keys off his ring and tossed them over to Edward.

"Seriously?" Edward asked, in a tone so reminiscent of Hardison that it almost hurt to hear. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I've been living on oatmeal for a week straight now, and the protein's going to my head," Eliot joked. "Look. For everything I just said, you'd still be taking a chance, going out there, same as Florida or anywhere else. But it's not as far."

Miranda glanced wearily at the trailer she had attached to the back of her bicycle, and even before she pulled Edward aside, Eliot knew they were going to accept the offer. He scrounged up a pen and borrowed some paper, and set to writing out the directions.

\---

He figured he'd done the right thing, giving away the keys to the farm. It forced his hand, for one. One less choice to make. He was going to Boston. There were no other options.

And there were eight of them, including the kids, and only one of him. They needed it more, and could probably make it work if they had to.

On the whole, it felt like the right thing to do. Almost like doing a job with the team.

But it didn't stop him from wishing that it had earned him some karma points, later that night, as he broke the leg of the man who'd woken him up by holding a gun to his head.

 _Sometimes, you just break even_ , he thought at the top of the hill, looking back towards the sound of the third whimpering man he'd left in his wake since Miami.

\---

New York was the worst. Out on the road, you could get some distance. Here, though, even with so many already dead or fled, the crowds were unbearable. The subway tunnels were the best way to get around, but they were the most dangerous. There were stretches unlit by the fires where darkness was nearly complete, unless you had a torch. And if you did, if you turned it on, it was only to see eight or nine other people waiting to take it from you.

Up above, there was at least sometimes enough wind to move the stench of bodies away. Down here, there was no wind, and the smell stuck to his clothes and hair when he emerged.

New York was still crowded, and the subway still smelled funny. Apparently, though, there were still shows on Broadway. Actors and actresses still trying to feed themselves. He wondered how many people, these days, actually went. How many were actually willing to part with food in order to watch _Cats_ or _The Sound of Music_ , any more.

He missed Sophie, but didn't wish she was here. She'd never earn enough to stay alive, working the musical circuit.

Up at the fork ahead, it looked like the fire was about to burn out, so Eliot started looking for garbage to pile on when he passed, but it had been picked through, already burned. Apart from the bodies, the tunnels were probably the cleanest they'd ever been.

But the fire was sputtering, making a slow strobe of light flashing out over the three people up ahead. They'd been moving cautiously, but now they appeared even slower, like zombies.

 _He'd gone to Hardison's place to pick up some gear once, a few months before _going over to Hardison's place_ had started becoming a regular thing, and had found him covered in ashy makeup and fake blood, wearing one cataract contact lens._

 _"If you're getting set up to run game on somebody, you've totally overdone the blood, he said, giving him a wide berth and heading for the case of pamphlets that Alec had gotten printed. "It's too red, for as drained as you're done up,"_

 _"What? Nah. Zombie pub crawl."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Zombies, drinking. It's gonna be awesome."_

 _"So what, like, you're just going to go to a bar dressed like an idiot?"_

 _"Nah, man, I got a date, and there's probably going to be a few hundred people on this thing," he said, heading back into the bathroom to put in the other lens._

 _"I gotta ask. Is it true love with this girl, or necrophilia?"_

 _"Shut up man," Hardison called out, just as his cell rang from the hall table._

 _Eliot glanced down to read the caller ID as he passed towards the closet. Some guy named Mike. "Your phone's going off," he shouted. "Where did you put the cameras?"_

 _"Back office," Hardison said, emerging to grab the phone as Eliot headed back through the apartment._

 _At first glance, the office was a disaster zone, with boxes and wires everywhere, so it was going to be easier to wait for Hardison to get off the phone. He hadn't actually meant to listen in._

 _"...yeah, I know. Looking forward to it. I'll meet you there at nine."_

 _So Hardison was going out on a date with a guy named Mike, and Eliot was standing in the doorway of Hardison's office, feeling like he'd missed something, and yelling again for Hardison to tell him where the damned cameras were, because he didn't have all night to sit around and watch him put on makeup._

\---

Probably because the end was _finally_ in sight, the guards at the edge of Boston had to ask him a hundred questions about why he was coming into Boston, what he'd been doing in New York, the route he'd taken, and where, exactly, he was going. One of them gave him a hundred warnings about how many people had already fled to Boston, while the other went into the back room with Eliot's ID. They wanted to know if he had any guns, and neither of the guards believed him when he said he didn't.

Eliot was surprised when he heard a voice behind him. "You want one?"

He turned and accepted his license from the guard, and caught sight of the sealed envelope he held in his other hand. "I don't need one."

"I'm supposed to give you everything you need, upon your arrival. Looks like you're being called back to duty."

" _No_." Eliot couldn't believe it. "Look, I've pretty much _walked_ all the way from freakin' _Florida_ , and I'm finally almost-"

"Just following orders," the older guard said, handing over the envelope. His name and serial number were printed on it, nothing more.

Tearing it open, with a groan, Eliot was surprised to find a handwritten note, until he remembered that printers were probably not the preferred technology, any more. Immediately turning to the bottom of the page, he read the signature.

 _Love, Sophie_

\---  



	4. Chapter 4

  
_Dear Eliot,_

If you've gotten this, it means you've made it to Boston. At the time that I'm writing, it's been four months since we've last spoken.

We've got a job. This is where you pretend that you're sitting around waiting for Alec to break out the visual aids. I say pretend because apart from two letters to Nate, the last of which was dated April the 12th, we've not heard from him, and do not know if he and Parker are okay.

Find them. That's mission the first, and there may be a secondary part. By the time you get this, mind you, this could all be outdated or irrelevant, but as we've seen no response to Nate's letters, we fear the worst.

From what I understand, there is a man named Cornelius who has amassed what appears to be a small private army. They're running the food supply, and I'm sure you can imagine all that entails. When last we heard, Alec and Parker are planning on taking Cornelius down a notch or two. I shudder to think what could befall them should they find themselves over their heads. They may need your help.

I am making preparations to depart for America. If you write to Nate at the address below, there is a fairly good chance he may receive it, though the post is not as dependable as we've hoped. He has, however, been able to ring me up from the prison, as the military has taken over security. As such, they've brought with them phones and tools that have been built specifically to withstand EMP radiation.

I am going to see what I can to do expedite his release, due to these bizarre circumstances. Oddly enough, this seems to be the one situation where basic bribery will not work, as there is no way to ensure delivery of any goods promised from so great a distance, so I am- again, strangely enough- left taking an approach which is entirely above board. Unfortunately, this may delay my arrival in New York, but Nate and I will join you in Boston as soon as we possibly can.

I ~~can only hope~~ firmly believe that this letter will find you, as to think otherwise would be ridiculous. But I truly hope that you are safe and well.

Love, Sophie

\---

Eliot stared at the page, wanting to read it again, but not here, with the curious guards staring back at him, so he asked if they were done, here. On his way out the Boston-side of the office, he turned in the doorway to ask, "Hey. Has there been an official death toll yet?"

"Dunno. Last estimate was fifty or sixty million across the country, but that was a few days ago."

There wasn't much of anything Eliot could say to that.

About two dozen people were descending on the roadblock, asking for information, wanting help that the guards couldn't give, trying to find any way they could to get what they needed without having to actually set foot in the city. It was time to move on. Mustering the most off-putting glare he could manage, because he didn't want to deal with the world he was stepping back into, he made his way up the Turnpike as the clouds gathered themselves towards critical mass.

He had to climb down onto North Beacon Street when the rain started, and made his way into the Jaguar dealership to get out of the rain that was starting to come down faster than he could shake it off.

Hardly any of the cars had been stolen, and he considered breaking all the windows, just to make a point, or to hear the glass shatter, but then he found the couch in the break room, and lost interest. Going into his pack for the small camp stove he'd found in a garage in Hartford, he boiled water for the tea he'd found in the receptionist's drawer.

Just in time, too, as the coughs set in. Thankfully, the receptionist had been one of those terminally prepared types, with several tissue packets and a small pharmacy in the second drawer down. He grabbed everything that looked useful and went to lie down for a while, at least until the rain let up.

It was getting late, anyway. Better to stop off in the morning, and re-read Sophie's letter five or six more times, smoothing out the wrinkles in the paper.

Hardison and Parker were in Boston. He'd find them by noon tomorrow.

Even with the tea and the cold meds, it was hard, getting to sleep.

\---

The glass of the front door was broken, though the door itself was welded shut, with bars crisscrossing the open space. Eliot went around back, glancing up at one of Alec's security cameras, wondering if he was being watched. Hoping so.

There were thick orange power cables running off the side of the roof and into one of the windows on Hardison's top-floor apartment.

He'd survived long enough to get his gear up and running, then. Alec was alive. This was real.

The realization that he had no idea what to do with the knowledge struck Eliot as he pulled the ladder to the fire escape down. He hadn't seen anyone he genuinely cared about in months. He had no idea what he'd say when he arrived at the top, but there wasn't much of anything he _could_ say, anyhow.

But he should probably start with an apology, and see where it went from there.

\---

He'd made it. Almost six months, but he'd _made_ it. And Hardison's apartment was empty.

No, scratch that. There was still a lot of crap lying around. People had obviously looted the hell out of the place, to the point where there was no sign that Hardison had ever been the one to live there.

Right now, there was only Eliot, sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, looking at a room full of lifeless computers.

 _It doesn't mean he's dead. They're not fucking symbols of anything._.

He'd set himself up for this without even noticing. Let himself hope too much.

 _It doesn't mean he's dead_.

Maybe he'd moved out, found a different place to stay. It's what Eliot would have done, probably a lot sooner than Alec would have. Maybe he was at Parker's place.

It would help, really, if he knew where Parker lived.

Or maybe they'd already gone after this Cornelius guy.

 _That could have been a month ago._

Eliot picked himself off the floor and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. This cold he'd picked up was annoying as hell. He had work to do. Had to find out more about Cornelius. Had to find out if he had to work out a rescue mission, or Cornelius' funeral.

\---

He was getting used to it now, the half glances from strangers as they quickened their pace, trying to avoid him. But his patience was running thin.

"Hey!" he called out, hurrying to catch up to an apparently unarmed man who was turning onto the next block. "I just need to know-"

Rounding the corner, Eliot drew up short to find the man staring back at him, arms crossed, a smirk slashing his mouth.

Eliot had walked into a trap. He was covered from three positions, two teenage boys and a woman training guns on him unerringly.

But they hadn't fired, yet. He took a breath.

"I'm sorry. I just. I need some information. I've been hearing that a man named Cornelius is the guy in charge around here. Old information, though. Need to know if he's still in power."

"You're not part of his crew?" The man relaxed, a fraction, and it was as good as answering him plainly. Cornelius still had people running scared. If Hardison and Parker had made a move against him, they hadn't won.

The traitorous portion of Eliot's brain told him to make a move, to dash forward, attack. Throw himself forward and meet the bullets halfway.

 _It doesn't mean they're dead. Don't be an idiot._

\---

"Someone was going through your apartment," Parker said, pulling back her hood as she tossed her damp pack up on the counter.

Hardison finished wrapping a rubber band around a stack of letters. "I know. I was there a few days back, grabbing that laptop over there. Wanted to see if it would work with that drive I found in the basement."

"No, I mean. About an hour ago, when I was over there to grab some of the stuff from Nate's safe. Heard someone coming up the fire escape so I ducked out into the hall, went up to the roof, and came down at the other end of the block."  

"You get a look at them?"

"No," she replied, stretching her arms over her head. "They could still be over there, for all I know. Does it matter?"

"Probably not."

"I grabbed more batteries while I was there. You need any, yet?"

"Nah. Haven't really been listening. Got tired of the reruns. _Stay calm. Stay indoors. Stay alive._ "

"There's a guy broadcasting from somewhere nearby. Non military. You can catch it on the lower frequencies. He's been reading Sherlock Holmes, this week. It's weird. You think we could get around him?"

"The guy on the radio?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Don't know. Wouldn't worry about it, though. How's the garden going?"

At this, Parker heaved an exhausted sigh. "It's fine, but. It's not going to be enough. There's been about a hundred people moving into the neighborhood in the past week. People keep showing up like they have been, and we might end up having to strike a deal with Cornelius."

"Why don't you just steal what you need from the bastard?"

"Impractical, until we can figure out the rotation on his sentries. I'd need a few others to help carry out enough to make it worthwhile. Don't have the time to train anyone, and even if I did, everyone's either too scared to make a move against him, or too pissed off not to blow the mission."

"Look. We've got the Kings, and as soon as they work out their truce with the H Block and Heath Street crews, we'll have enough for a direct press."  

"I still don't see why we're waiting."

"Because the entire _problem_ is that there's nobody balancing Cornelius out. We just let the Kings take over, there's nothing to stop them setting up shop the same way. It's a balance of power thing."

"Or it could just mean that there's three gangs running everything, with even more resources than they already have. Or there could be a gang war."

"Would either of us notice, at this point, if that actually happened?"

"Probably not," Parker agreed, frowning. "I wish Nate was here. And Sophie."

"Not Eliot?"

"Yeah, but I thought you had him covered."

\---

All afternoon spent canvassing, and the only thing Eliot learned was that there weren't too many reliable witnesses, anymore. Those that weren't crazy were lying to him outright. Nobody trusted anybody. Everyone _expected_ to be conned, so terrified of Cornelius that they weren't thinking straight.

They came up with all sorts of insane bullshit, like how he lived out on a drilling platform in the harbor, even though there weren't actually any rigs out there. One woman thought that he lived in the back of a tank that had been retrofitted for comfort. And apparently, he'd taken over the police department, and ran everything from the jail. Eliot's favorite was that he lived in the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley, staying hidden at all times in case of attack, shooting at people from behind the pins.

Eventually, though, he managed to piece together that Cornelius was still in power, based on the west side of town and running the east by proxy, squeezing in from both sides. But that wasn't enough.

Eliot needed maps. Locations of guards. Who Cornelius had ties to, and who he feared. Inventory. Delivery routes. All the things that Hardison used to handle. Hell, he could really do with Hardison's unfunny commentary track in his ear right about now, too.

He had none of the above, though. He needed to stop, for a minute, stop chasing and _think_ , because he was missing something, and it was probably right in front of him.

 _Okay, pay attention_.

Eliot had been on missions before in some seriously screwed places, places with more bullet holes and blast debitage than standing walls, where the people were scared, and he couldn't understand most of them anyway.  Here, at least, he spoke the language, for what it was worth. There wasn't even a newspaper in this town.

There was the mail, though. And that was it, he'd just seen it, twenty steps back, unless he was mistaken.

The kid couldn't have been more than twenty or so, with a tattoo on the side of his neck and two mailbags crisscrossing his chest, leaving his hands free for the sawed off shotgun he carried, determinedly cutting a swath down the edge of a street he was familiar with. He knew where all the blind spots were, and he was checking them all as he passed.

Anyone who walked so easily through a neighborhood like this- which had been one of the nicer ones, a few months back, but the boutique and café windows were smashed, now, same as everywhere- would have to know where he was going and what he was doing, and probably even had a _why_ somewhere in there as well. A mission, maybe even a destination.

\--- 

 _A few weeks after they'd hooked up, Eliot was going out to California to make sure the three-gang ceasefire Nate had brokered was still standing. "I'll send you a postcard," he said, the night before he left._

"People still do that?" Hardison scowled in horror. "Send me an email, man, it's faster."

Eliot rolled his eyes and forgot about it until he was picking up toothpaste at the corner store across the street from the hotel. They were right there, by the cash register, and he chose one of Venice beach, which was a lot more scenic than the blocks he was currently surveying. Scrawled 'wish you were here' across the back of one and sent it off before he lost his nerve.

It still bugged him, honestly, that something so stupid could've set him on edge.

He'd been in Boston for two days before it arrived, and Alec crowed when he pulled it out of the pile of the day's junk mail, talking about how he couldn't imagine that the world actually functioned for hundreds of years on a week's long delay or more, and how thankful he was that the human race was capable of evolution, even if Eliot was a total throwback.

Eliot had already decided that emails were probably the way to go from there on out, but he wasn't going to admit it to Hardison. He might've revised his thoughts a little, though, when he noticed the card tacked to the wall by Alec's bed. Not that it meant anything. Alec had a bunch of crazy shit hanging in his room.     
  
\--- 

If he turned left at the end of the block, he'd be on Alec's street. He could go back up, see if the card was still there, if he was willing to abandon the chase.

If the card had survived this long, it would probably still be there tomorrow.

\---

It started to rain for the billionth time in two days, about an hour after Parker left. Another two hours after that, Alec had to kill a man.

He'd been taking out the trash, not noticing the man standing at the back door until he was already halfway through it.

It was clear from the outset that the guy was there to steal what he could from the mail out in the back room, and Alec had pretty much been okay with it. He'd already gone through most of it himself, to be honest, and he hadn't been the first there. It had long since been picked clean.

But the man probably hadn't thought about that, and when he realized how shit out of luck he was, he attacked, coming at Alec with a box cutter he'd grabbed off the table and pinning him against the wall, the blade at his throat.

The man's hot breath stank, puffing damply across Alec's face as he tried to go for whatever he thought Alec had in his pockets.

It took a few seconds to realize that he was actually trying to disarm him, and it was only then that he remembered the gun in the back of his waistband, pressing incessantly against his spine as he tried to back away from the blade.

Even now, moments later, with the blood pooling on the floor and being soaked up by the junk mail and old bills, Alec wasn't quite sure how he'd managed it.

His first instinct was to run like hell, but there was nowhere to go, and no reason. It wasn't like the police were on their way.

There was a trash bin, in the back corner of the loading dock, with wheels mounted on the bottom. It took some effort to maneuver the body inside. Alec's hands kept dropping from what they were doing, sliding off too much blood, or being momentarily startled by the feeling of not-yet cooled skin. In the end, he had to knock the bin on its side and shove the man into inside.

Only afterwards, as he was heading back into the alley, dragging the bin behind him, did he realize that he never got the man's name. He had several blocks before he had to decide whether to search his pockets.

In the end, he didn't bother.

\---

The kid had ducked into an alley and up the escape, but Eliot didn't need to chase him. If he remembered right, the post office was just around the corner and half a block down. Eliot took the long way. It was better to approach from the front. He didn't want to startle anyone, if anyone was actually there.

The front of the building was plastered in handwritten papers, ' _have you seen me?_ ' jostling for space with ' _I'm alive, are you?_ '

It was hard to read most of them in the rain, most were moldered together and the ink was running. Tomorrow, there would probably be new ones. Survivors replacing the ones that were lost, maybe adding notices for the people who wouldn't make it home tonight.

The door itself was intact, with only one notice posted. It was a flyer directing people to the local relief distribution center. Someone had scrawled something underneath, and though the ink was running, Eliot could make out Cornelius' name, written angrily. He wished he could read the rest of it.

Eliot had enough time to recognize his own shadow before turning around to face the sudden bright light that was causing it.

\---

"Post office is closed," a warning voice called from a doorway across the street. Eliot didn't have to squint to know that there was a gun trained on him.

"Just looking for some information," he called out, because at this point, it was becoming habitual. He raised his hands slightly. Just enough to put them at ease, and to let drips of cold water wind their way down along his arm, under his jacket.

"What d'you need to know?"

 _I need to know where Hardison and Parker are. I need to know where Cornelius is, and if they went up against him. I need to know where to look. I need to not be wandering around my own city not knowing the first goddamned thing about it_.

"I'm looking for some friends of mine, was hoping there'd be some clue here. I'm new in town. Kind of. Need to figure out how things work, here."

"Where you come from?"

"Louisiana," he said, because Mexico sounded ridiculous, here. "You running this place?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis and watched the flashlight swerve, slightly, as it scanned him.

A moment later, it dropped to the ground.

"No," the man said, and Eliot kept his eyes on the beam of light as it came cautiously closer. "But I work for the guy that does. Only thing you need to know about that is that we keep an eye on the place for him. Bunch of people rely on it to hear anything that's going on outside. Information is power, you know?"

"Yeah." Eliot agreed, uneasy, and lowered his hands. If the man saw it as a threat, in three steps he'd be in close enough range for it not to matter. "Name's Eliot."

"Mica," the man said, finally drawling close enough that Eliot could see most of his face, under the hood of his sweatshirt. He was younger, early twenties, maybe, but that didn't mean anything.

What _did_ matter was what he said next. "You want, we can head inside, get out of the rain for a bit and I'll fill you in. Long as we stay in the front of the building, it's cool."

"Why the front?"

"So my boys can keep an eye on us through the windows. Nothin' personal, man, but I don't invite strangers to my Mama's house."

"Fair enough," Eliot said, and followed Mica inside, resisting the urge to move into a less-visible position.

"Okay. So. That sign on the door. Cornelius. What's that about?"

"He's a lowdown-"

There was a crash in the back room, then, and Mica readied his gun and shouted, "Hardison?"

Eliot was too shocked to respond, and wasn't prepared to see the kid he'd followed coming out of the back room. "Nah, Mica. It's Tre, and you gotta check this out, it's trashed back here. Don't know if anyone got down to the lockers, but there's a lot of blood."

Mica's demeanor changed, he was stepping back, aiming his gun. "This guy, was hanging out front just now-"

"Hang on, hang on. You said _Hardison_ ," Eliot tried, but he was waved to silence.

The kid leaned over the counter to get a better look at him. "Mica, man. It ain't him. This cat was too busy followin' my ass all over town, and whoever it was that came in, looks like they came through the back."

Another day, and Eliot would have taken it up, but right now, he was having the first lead he'd had all day. He took a step to the side. If talking didn't work, he still had his options. " _Listen_ , gentlemen. I need to know. Are you talking about _Alec_ Hardison?"

"Hold up. Yeah. You know him?"

"Yeah. We were tight before everything went to hell."

"Yeah. Okay." Mica lowered the gun again, glanced towards the door to the back room. "No sign of him back there?"

"I'll check upstairs," the kid said, heading back through the doors, coming down again very quickly and not noticing Eliot releasing the breath he'd been holding when he said, "Ain't there, but either's his body."

\---

The rain and dark had chased off the trash pickers, but they'd be out again soon, rummaging through the refuse that had gotten out past the swing set, now, and was starting to creep onto the porch.

Alec dumped the body into the open pit with the others and slit open one of the bags of soil that the National Guard had probably meant for gardening, when they'd dropped it off way back before they'd been chased out of the neighborhood. He emptied three bags over the bodies and called it good. Wouldn't be enough to keep the smell down, much, but it was better than nothing.

He walked back in a daze, wondering intermittently if the rain would wash off all the blood by the time he got back. The sun hadn't been out at all, today. There was no way he had enough power to heat water for bathing, and to be honest, right then, he probably had the cold slash of the rain coming.

Every few steps, though, he'd get distracted, start telling himself ,over and over again, that it was self defense. He hadn't had a choice. He told it to himself like he'd explain it to a judge, if there were any judges left in the world. He promised himself that he hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to. That he'd panicked.

If he'd stayed calm, used his head, he could have avoided it. Maybe waited it out, for a while, given the other guy time to cool down, maybe lose interest.

 _Keep walking._

Maybe, if he'd held out long enough, Eliot would have stalked through the open door and taken care of it. But fuck, Eliot hadn't come. He'd left, before all this. _Back when 'all this' was just you trying to keep everyone together like you did when Dad left, before it was dead bodies in the streets and no hot water. Of course he wouldn't come._

 _It's stupid to think that he would. Would you, given the choice?_

Fuck.

Hardison still carried a wallet. It still held some cash, on the off chance he ever found anyone desperate enough to accept it, but mostly it was to hold his identification in case the police or the soldiers ever grabbed him on one of their occasional sweeps.

But there was a picture, inside, and the rain rolled right off of the plastic when he took it out to ask for advice.

Eliot, looking his least _Eliot_ , stared back at him mutely and didn't tell him anything useful. He was wearing the slightly glazed expression that he didn't know he wore whenever he was pretending to be more boring than he was. _Ted Saunders_ was the name printed along the bottom, _Tech Support_ was the title. Bland and dull, someone who had never done anything wrong in his life, and who probably hadn't done much of anything else, either. He'd be the last person you'd want to talk about the guy you'd had to kill when taking out the trash.

Ted wasn't Eliot, but Alec would settle. It was close as he was going to get.

Turning into the alley, he realized that he'd forgotten the bin back at the backyard dump. He slowed, for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth going back to retrieve it.

 _You just killed a dude, and you're worried about an old trash can?_

He tried to shake it off. Promised himself he'd avail himself of the bottle he had hidden up above the foam ceiling tiles in the office he'd made his home, as soon as he made it through the mess inside.

He closed his eyes and pretended he was ready for what he'd find- the blood and the knocked over boxes- and he was halfway through when he heard the silence falling out in the main room.

He froze, and waited for a beat. Whoever it was had to have heard him by now.

But they were waiting, too, listening.  And if they wanted to start something, Alec had just discovered he was capable of killing, so he might as well get this over with.  " _Hello_?"

"Hardison?" Mica called out, and a moment later, Alec found himself with a flashlight in his face. " _Shit_ , man. Thought you were dead."

"You should see the other guy. Look, I'll explain in the morning, but right now-" Alec's eyes adjusted to the light, enough to make out Mica's face, Tre behind him, and the ghost that followed. It was still there when he blinked, and it was the only thing he saw.

" _Eliot_?"

"Hardison."

Something unexpected happened in his chest when he heard his name, and for an instant, he was positive that it was strong enough to have killed him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't _think_.

It was Mica, his second in command, who was still functioning in the real world. "A'ight. Looks like you two got to have some words. We'll be back tomorrow an' figure this shit out," he said, and then it was just the two of them, standing there in the bloody room.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah," he nodded, rocking back on his heels for a moment, then down, and the momentum was carrying him forward.

The hard edge of the plastic card was pressing sharply against the inside of his fist, and Eliot's hair was sticking wetly to the side of Alec's neck. He couldn't breathe, but he'd never held onto anyone so tight in his life. Maybe this time it would stick.

\---


	5. Chapter 5

  
If it hadn't been too dark to see, Eliot might have wondered what he'd be missing. The way Alec's hair scratched against Eliot's temple. Jagged breaths as he whispered " _Holy fuck, El. Holy shit,"_ into his neck. How different he smelled, and just how cold his skin was.

"Hey," Eliot finally pulled back, slightly, because if somebody didn't start, there was no telling how long they were going to be in this limbo. _Hey_ , man. It's cool."

Alec's laugh was rasping and bitter. "I just killed a dude, El."

"Yeah, kinda looks that way," Eliot nodded, trying to think. _First one's the hardest,_ he nearly said. It was a truth he'd never wanted Alec , never wanted _any_ of them to have to learn. He swallowed before trying again. "Thought it was you, there, for a second. That would have been really crappy timing, huh?"

"Yeah." If the lights had been on, Eliot would've been able to read his face, see if he really was answering from as far away as he sounded. "Happened a few feet behind you. Think you're standing in his blood."

 _Yeah, but it ain't yours. That's the point._ "Wanna get out of here?"

Eliot could just make out the shake of his head. "I live upstairs," he said.

"Yeah. That's what I hear."

He followed Hardison out into the main room and to the left, grabbing his pack from where he'd left it on the counter. It wasn't until they were on the stairs that he started to feel drained, tired.

It wasn't until Alec turned a light on that the last of Eliot's bravado fled. He did what he could to cover for it, but when Alec turned to look at him, it was clear that he wasn't really seeing him, anyway.

\---

He looked like he'd been through hell. Considering where they were both standing, maybe it was more that he was just meeting him halfway.

Alec had been focusing on Eliot's presence, or the lack thereof, so long and so hard that now, with Eliot standing three feet away, he had no idea what to do with himself. Eliot was _here_ , following him up the stairs like he'd done so many times before, and Alec had killed a guy, and now he was supposed to show him around the place, or something. Give him the tour of the room and a half that he called his home, now.

Eliot's beard was redder than Alec would have expected, and the eyes that looked out over it were exhausted as they looked around the room in nearly hidden confusion. He looked _wary_ , too.

 _Course they do. He's stuck in a room with a murderer._

Shut the fuck up.

"So, uh. Yeah. This is where I'm stayin', now," Alec sat down on a corner of the mattress he'd dragged up from across the alley, waving Eliot towards the chair. "Ain't much, but-"

"You've got power." Eliot was squinting at the lamp next to the bed like he'd never seen one before. At least not in a while.

"Yeah. Solar when the weather's holding. Built a generator out of an old exercise bike too, for when it's not. Car battery for emergencies, but…"

"Bicycle?" Eliot asked, then shook his head, removing his rain gear and finally sitting down. It wasn't what Alec wanted to be talking about, either. He just didn't know where to go from there.

"Yeah, so. Uh. It's good to see you, man," he said, cringing inwardly at how lame it sounded, but it needed to be said sooner, rather than later. "How've you been?"

"Me? Oh, I've been _great_ ," Eliot said, but then he smiled- or probably smiled, it was hard to tell with the beard, but his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and then Alec was laughing, too.

\---

What the hell do you say in a situation like this?

If Sophie were here, maybe she'd have an answer. He almost said as much to Hardison, but it seemed like dangerous territory, talking about the others. Making assumptions that they were still alive. It already felt like every time he opened his mouth, he was running the risk of making things worse. And yeah, Alec was laughing, but it was grim, almost bitter.   _Manic, that's the word._

Alec shook his head and rose to his feet, going to the corner of the room, stepping up on a crate to slide one of the ceiling tiles to the side, and pulling down a bottle. At his instruction, Eliot twisted in his seat to retrieve two glasses from the steel filing cabinet.

 _He's got the whiskey inaccessible. Doesn't mean anything. Everyone's hiding their shit from everyone else, these days. It's not just alcoholics who do this, anymore. It makes sense. Doesn't mean anything. Bottle's new, anyway. Hasn't been opened. Just means that this bottle in particular hasn't been opened. But there aren't a bunch of others lying around, and he's not acting weird about it. And even if he was, well. The world just ended.  And he killed a guy tonight. He's dealing. It's fine._

Alec came back with the bottle, shrugging. "I don't have anything to mix it with, here, unless you want room temperature coffee from this morning."

"That's cool," Eliot said, watching Alec pour two only slightly heavy rounds. It would have felt completely normal if there'd been ice in the glasses. Following Alec's lead, he downed it in one. Alec winced as it went down, sputtering a little, then shaking his head.

"Bleh," he said, but he poured two more rounds. This time, though, he didn't shoot it back. "Not really my scene, but…"

"Yeah." Eliot knew that. Alec hadn't ever really been the heavy drinking type, and apparently, he still wasn't. Maybe Alec really was okay. "Fucking crazy day, yeah?"

" _Year_ ," Alec shrugged, sitting back down and regarding him tiredly. "So. Seriously? I'm a little..." he waved fingers in the general vicinity of his head.

Eliot nodded, looking instead at the poster tacked to the door. Rows and rows of stamps. He wondered why Alec had left it there, it was ugly as hell. "Me too."

\---

The whiskey helped, a little bit, with the panic. It wasn't that he was freaking out, now, it was just happening in slower waves. He could keep up with it, pretend he was still afloat, that Eliot's presence wasn't making his brain spin out in fifty different directions.

 _Lots of people been killed. Self defense. You had to._

Eliot's looking for exits. He's here, seen what you've done, and he's just gonna leave again. You have to keep him here. Get him to stay, for a while, talk.

You still have blood on your shirt.

You don't even know what he's been up to, where he's been. You don't know anything anymore.

The trash bin is still out at the dump. You might need it, later. It's just gonna fill with rain, weather like this.

Alec swallowed more whiskey, but the burn wasn't as bad as it had been, before. He took a breath, which Eliot must have heard, because he turned his exhausted eyes back in Alec's direction, waiting. And Alec Hardison was the biggest idiot in the world, right now.

"Shit," he said. "Sorry, man. Uh, when did you get into town?"

"This morning."

"You eaten since?"

"Yeah. Got some food, if you're hungry." Eliot pushed himself up, reaching over the side of his chair for his pack.

"Nah, I'm good, was just checkin' on you." _As long as you keep talking, he'll stay_.  "Alright," he decided.  "What I propose is this. I have _got_ to wash off tonight's nastiness. No showers, and since we've had a blackout for the past two weeks and the sun hasn't been out for three days, there's probably no heating it right now, but the water still runs and there's soap and stuff if you need to clean up. After that, we crash the hell out, unless you got somewhere else you've got staked out that's less than a million miles away, and we take this up in the morning. With coffee."

"Awesome," Eliot grinned, sipping at his drink.

"Cool," Alec said, rising to his feet and heading towards one of the other filing cabinets, taking out some fresh clothes. "Hang out here, I'll be right back, feel free to look around or whatever."

"Right on," Eliot said, but didn't move from his seat.

\---

The bathroom light was starting to fade, it would be out of juice, soon. Even so, the sight of himself in the mirror was too harsh. He tried not to look, just stripped down and averted his eyes as the washcloth soaked in the sink.

His clothes were a wash, but the boots were salvageable. The blood was dried, now, and it had gotten places that Alec hadn't expected, soaking through to his skin in thin smeared swaths.

Bracing himself against the cold, he grabbed the soap and the rag, and started to scrub.

\---

Eliot was curious, but he was too tired to make any real investigation of Alec's room. And that wasn't all of it, because for all of the remnants of its previous life as an office- the filing cabinets, the big desk pushed to the corner, the pile of office supplies in the corner on the other side of the mattress- it was clearly Hardison's home, now, and Eliot was an intruder.

If he'd shown up earlier, things would've been different. If he hadn't fucked around so much getting through Connecticut, if he'd managed to shave a _day_ off the trip, he could've been here in time, before Hardison had been backed into that corner.

If he'd arrived this morning, it might've been avoided. Might have been better. Or maybe it would've been better if he hadn't arrived at all.  Hardison had set himself up fairly well, here. He was _alive_ and, as much as it was throwing him, had been able and willing to defend himself. He had shelter, hell, he had _lights_ and didn't need any of Eliot's food.

The one thing Eliot could've saved him from, he'd been too late. And now he was sitting here, finishing off his whiskey and waiting while Alec was washing the blood off of his hands so he could continue catering to his uninvited guest.

 _You fucked up. Spent all that time thinking about finding him that you didn't think about what you'd do when it happened. You didn't expect any of this. He doesn't need you. Might not even want you here, not really._

Eliot's first kill had been in a war that had made sense, and he hadn't been the only one to do so, that day. He'd had people fighting next to him, and they'd all been in the same battle, known the same score.

Since then, he'd fought several battles, but he hadn't been there for Alec's. Hadn't been there for any of them.

If he had any indication of who Hardison was, now, what had and what hadn't changed, he'd know for sure what Alec needed. If his instructions to _hang out here_ were orders that should be obeyed, or not.

The lamp was starting to flicker, just a little bit, running out of power. Eliot glared at it in annoyed sympathy, scratching at his beard and wondering if this really was the extent of the world Alec had meant to build for himself.

Dragging himself up to his feet, he heard a creak in the hall, and wasn't as relieved as he would've liked to be to find that it was Alec who stepped through the door.

\---

"A'ight. Got a toothbrush down for you, and there's a stack of clean towels and washrags on the shelf. Razors too. Help yourself to whatever you want, just down the hall. I'm guessing the light'll hold out for another fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Razors? Thanks, man," Eliot said, feeling his muscles protest as he reached down for his pack.

He made his way to the bathroom, turning the faucet on and glaring at his face in the mirror.

As soon as he had the energy for it, this beard was gone.

He wasn't expecting to hear the knock on the door, he hadn't even heard footsteps, but it was immediately followed by Hardison's voice.

"Hey, Eliot. Uh. Didn't think to ask, before, but there's clean sweats and stuff if you want 'em."

Eliot glanced down at his pack, at the admittedly filthy-if still functional- changes of clothes within, and snorted. Opening the door, he found Alec standing there with a pile of folded cotton in his arms.

"Awesome. Thanks, man."

"No problem, Alec smirked tiredly, and headed back down the hall.

It was only five minutes later, as he was getting dressed, that Eliot realized that the worn sweatshirt on the top of the pile was the same one he'd left in his drawer, seven and a half months ago.

\---

Alec was already in the bed when Eliot returned, sitting up, but the light was still on.

"Hey," Eliot set his pack down, deciding that this could only be as awkward as he wanted it to be, and lay down next to him.

"Hey," Alec said. "You're keeping the beard?"

"Too tired to mess with it," Eliot answered, momentarily disappointed as Alec turned off the light. It wasn't like he was afraid of the dark, but the novelty of being able to see after dark without having one hand on the flashlight hadn't yet worn off.

He shifted over, a little, to give Alec enough room to lie down. If it weren't for the slight dip of the mattress, Alec might not have been there at all.

\---

Eliot was a statue lying on the other half of the bed, probably already asleep, while Alec stared at the ceiling, in turn making apologies to Nana, or whoever, for what he'd done, and resisting the urge to reach out, touch Eliot again, prove him real.

And Eliot's voice, when it eventually came, hoarse and quiet in the dark, didn't verify his existence.

"About what happened. Before. When I left."

"It's cool, man. No reason to rehash all that."

"Yeah, but. Just had to tell you I'm sorry. For leavin' like I did. Wasn't supposed to take this long to get back."

"What? Okay. Well, uh. You're forgiven," Alec replied, eyes open and seeing nothing, really, but there merest hints of the edge of the lampshade, maybe the corner of the room.

 _Who the hell am I to forgive anything right now?_

But it was an opening, and here, now, maybe, this was all starting to make some sort of sense. Enough that he could risk asking, "Where you been?"

"Everywhere between here and Mexico. Got here as soon as I could." Alec nodded at that, and was just becoming aware that Eliot probably didn't see, when he heard the drag of moving fabric and felt Eliot's hand grasping at his sleeve. "Last I heard, Nate and Sophie were safe, so I have to ask. You seen Parker?"

 _They're alive,_ Alec blinked as he felt something like himself coming back. "Yeah, she's fine. We can go to her place in the morning, if you want."

"That's." If he hadn't turned the light off, he'd probably be able to see the laughter he was hearing. "That would be great."

"Uh huh," was a stupid response, because there was nowhere to go from there but silent. Again, though, Eliot saved them both with another tug on his sleeve.

"You doin' alright?"

"I. Yeah. It's just. Fucked. Like. Been hoping you'd show up, or we'd hear from you or something, get word." Alec took a breath. "Shit, man. Don't really know how to switch over into playin' host-with-the-most, y'know? I keep…Yeah. Don't even know where to start. So. Sorry about all this."

"Don't got anything to apologize for," Eliot said. "Know it still sucks, and it's gonna mess with you for a while. But for what it's worth, you're doin' fine," Eliot said.

"Yeah?" Alec cringed against the sound of his own voice, hating how needy and hopeful it sounded.

"I've been there. I know." For moment, it felt like Eliot was about to pull away, but he was just shifting, moving incrementally closer. "Just sorry I didn't get there in time to back you up."

"Me too," Alec agreed, experimentally bringing his hand up to rest on Eliot's arm.

A few minutes later, somebody moved first to meet the other halfway, and nobody moved for the rest of the night.

\---  



	6. Chapter 6

  
After months of sleeping on roofs, parking garage floors, park benches and the ground itself, Eliot was a little surprised to wake up in a bed feeling so stiff, sore, and utterly unable to open his eyes. He rolled over to go back to sleep when a crinkling noise caught his attention. Paper, lying just under his elbow.

It took a few minutes to roll over enough to pick it up, another one to open his eyes to read it.

 _If I'm not downstairs, I'm up top and I'll be down in a bit. Coffee's in the thermos on the desk, clean mugs are on the shelf downstairs whenever you actually manage to wake your snoring ass up._

-Alec

p.s. I didn't draw anything on your face, though I was quite tempted. You sleep like the dead, man.

Eliot growled, more concerned that he hadn't woken up the moment Hardison moved than he was with anything he might have scrawled across his forehead, but it didn't stop him from checking his reflection in a dead computer screen before grabbing the coffee and heading downstairs.

Outside, through the window, the sun was making a weak attempt to come out over scads and handfuls of people walking east, probably out towards one of the ration points. Hurrying and annoyed and tired and stressed. Not a car in sight, millions of people dead, and rush hour still sucked.

He leaned against the counter and watched for a while, not really seeing much of anything, thinking vaguely about finding a mug for the coffee, but too tired to put any sort of plan into action.

It wasn't long before he heard a loud slamming up above, and Alec's footsteps coming along the hall and down the stairs, toolbox in hand.

"Hey, man," he grinned as he shoved the box onto a nearby cabinet. "You hungry? Didn't think you'd be up this early."

"Don't think I am," Eliot smirked, resisting the urge to yawn. "Even more tired than I was yesterday. Not really hungry, though." Alec nodded, rummaging around on the shelf to find two mugs and pouring the coffee. "What're you doing up there, anyway?"

"We've got a few months, but it's gonna start getting cold soon. Sunlight's gonna be at a bigger premium than it already is, so unless I want to freeze to death, I need about three hundred times the amount of power I'm currently getting, never _mind_ the work that needs to be done on the generators for the school."

The coffee was surprisingly strong, but Eliot wasn't sure it wasn't just a case of not being used to it, any more. He couldn't even tell if it really tasted burnt or not. "The school?"

"Yeah. Parker's over there, along with about sixty others. Lot of kids, some with families, some without. The usual."

"Seriously?" Eliot rolled his neck, wincing as the stiffness failed to fade. "Would've thought she'd be gone. What's she doing there?"

"Lookin' after them. Making sure they actually get the supplies they need. Doing their shopping, man, what do you think?" Hardison scowled in faint irritation, and it didn't take too long to figure out what he'd said wrong.

"Right. Sorry, man. Just. Tired. Things ain't looking the way I thought they would."

"Right on," Hardison shrugged, broke into a grin. "Hell, things ain't lookin' the way _anyone_ thought they would. Like you."

"What d'you mean?"

"That beard? And the bags under your eyes? You look done in."

"Whatever, man. You don't look quite right yourself." And it was true, though for the most part, Alec looked good. His hair was a bit longer, but he'd managed to get it trimmed sometime recently. His clothes were in relatively pristine repair, though the jeans seemed a bit baggier. For the most part, he looked like he'd just had an overly long weekend, rather than living through the end of the world.

It was just the eyes, really, that had changed. If Alec were somebody else, and Eliot were _anybody_ else, he'd ask about it. Find out if it happened months ago, or just last night, when Eliot was too late to help.

"I'm fine," Eliot rubbed a hand over his face. "Just haven't woken up yet. When're we gonna see Parker?"

"Dude, seriously?" He rolled his eyes. "She probably went to bed an hour ago, maybe two. You've got time to crash for a few more hours."

Eliot didn't want to think about the fact that Hardison knew Parker so well, that they'd had months' worth of inside knowledge that he'd missed out on. And the fact that he was essentially being told to go to bed like a good little boy wasn't sitting right, either.

He was just irritated enough to stagger back up the stairs, but he wasn't ready for Alec to follow him five or ten minutes later, when he was still trying to find something that resembled a comfortable position.

"Here," Alec handed him a bottle of water and knelt by the side of the bed, rummaging around a nearby drawer for some pills. "Ibuprofen, if it helps. I'm gonna open up shop in a bit, here. Come down whenever you want."

"You tuckin' me in, now?" Eliot downed some water, ignored the pills, and lay back down.

"Nah, man. Just making sure I don't have to babysit your exhausted ass because you can't even walk in a straight line," Hardison smirked, tugging the blanket up over Eliot's shoulder. "But I've got time to read you a bedtime story, if you like."

"Fuck off."

"Warm powdered milk? Only three times more disgusting than the real thing?"

"Fuck off."

"Need a teddy bear?"

" _Hardison_ , Eliot growled. "I'm fine."

"If you're sure. Don't let the bedbugs bite. And don't think about that, either. You don't even want to know where I had to drag this mattress up from." Alec easily evaded Eliot's swatting arm, backing out of reach before rising.

Eliot watched him go, and wondered if he was supposed to have done something differently, right then. Considered getting up again, but he was too tired. And he'd finally gotten comfortable. The rest could wait.

\---

Eliot had looked like hammered dog shit, his eyes more closed than open, and it had been a relief. It meant that he hadn't asked any questions Alec didn't know the answers to, and he could put off trying to even think about them until later. In the meantime, he had a post office to run.

Mica showed up a few minutes early, leaning against the dead stamp machine and watching Alec sorting the contents of the drop box and picking out the few letters from the postage. One can of chili, a roll of toothpaste, and a surprising amount of baby stuff, clothes and bottles and even a tin of formula that hadn't gone off yet, more stuff than was needed to cover the shipping. Word had gotten out that Lisa Culverson, over at Parker's school, was nearly due. He wondered if the messages they'd sent out would bring a doctor to deliver the baby in time. He doubted it.

Somebody had paid in the shrimp ramen that Janice liked, so he left it on the counter, ready to go out with her delivery. By the time the last of the outgoing mail was bundled and ready to go, Janice still hadn't shown to collect her route, but Tre was there, watching Alec even more curiously than Mica had been doing.

"Everything cool?" he asked, eyes darting towards the back room and the mess that still hadn't been cleaned.

"Yeah. Nothin' else happened last night."

Tre nodded, glancing at Mica, who thankfully only asked, "Alec, man, who was that guy? Elroy. What's his deal?"

"Eliot? Friend of mine from back in the day. He's crashed out upstairs." _Still lying in the bed. In my bed. Right now, he's here. Right upstairs. Alive and in my bed and soon he'll be waking up_.

"Good people?"

"Yeah." Alec turned to hide his grin, opening the safe where their payment was stored, shoving the night's take on the top shelf before stepping aside so they could grab their cut. "Any idea where Janice is?"

Mica hesitated again, and for a moment Alec was positive he was about to bring up last night, but apparently he was trying to guess where Janice was hiding out this time. "Not a clue. Need one of us to take her route?"

Alec scratched his chin as he glanced at the route maps. Janice's drop-off was the launch point for everything going out west. If the mail didn't go through Boylston, it would have to go through Dallas just to get to Chicago. "Yeah, probably. Wish she'd just stay somewhere where we could track her, you know?"

"Yeah. That's her, though. She'd been livin' on the streets for so long, having her pick of apartments is still goin' to her head, you know?"

"Yeah. Alright. Boylston Street. Either of you got the time, you go ahead and take her cut, too. She shows up, I'll talk to her. "

Mica looked wary, but Tre was smirking. "I got this, Mica's got to make himself pretty for _Maria_ tonight."

" _Maria_ , huh?" Alec tried to attach a face to the name he'd heard so much about, and failed. "You finally talked her into it?"

"We're just hangin', yo. Ease up," he said, grabbing his food and a roll of dental floss from the safe, sequestering them in his pack before heading towards the door.

"Just hanging my left  _nut_ ," Tre called out as he followed Mica out the front door.

As he was locking up the safe, Alec didn't know that it was the last thing he'd hear Tre say. He'd barely registered that he'd heard it at all, because he had to sort through all the local mail before anyone came in looking for it. And there was cooking to sort out, at some point, and bloodstains to be cleaned.

\---

The mess in back- because calling it a mess was easier than calling it a murder scene, even if Alec knew better- took ages to clean. It didn't help that he hesitated before each stroke of the scrub brush.

He'd just wanted the guy to back off. The Guy. He'd never wanted to wipe him out of existence.

But he worked until all that remained was a damp looking smear on the concrete, a stain on the wall that might need another scrubbing, and a pile of dirty garbage shoved in the corner.

 _Should've grabbed the damned trashcan_ , he thought, dropping the scrub brush into the bucket and rocking back on his heels to survey the scene. Maybe he'd clean the rest of this out, one of these days. For having the huge loading dock door right there, it retained heat like nobody's business. Seal the door up, it might be worth moving down here when winter came.

The Guy would probably have another few bodies stacked on top of him by the time the snow came. And he'd have moldered a bit already too, sunk into the ground a bit. Mixed with the neighbors and frozen into a solid mass of-

 _It could've fucking well been you._

He grunted as he rose from his knees and caught sight of Parker sitting on a crate, ten feet behind him.

"That blood yours?" she asked, only sounding mildly curious.

"Uh. No." Alec took a breath and watched her, carefully, as he made his admission. "Guy tried to kill me last night. Got him first."

"Good," she replied, hopping down, like he'd said _it's not going to rain today_ , or _there's coffee in the thermos._ "Looks like we might have a problem."

 _How is that not a problem?_ , he wondered, following her into the front, pausing at the foot of the stairs. "Uh, Parker. Got a second before we get into that? Need to show you something."

She didn't reply, just examined him quizzically as he waved her up the stairs.

\---

Eliot woke on impact, his hands coming up to block even before his eyes were open.

All he saw at first was a mess of short blonde hair, and Alec smirking in the doorway. Then the hair moved, back and up, and Parker's face was beaming down at him.

"…so good to _see_ you," she was saying, lunging forward to wrap her arms awkwardly around him again. "Missed you, I hope that's okay." The short hair was a change, but there were a lot of things that were different, and this one-

 _Fuck_ , she was really here.

There wasn't much air in his lungs, but he managed a laugh, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tight. "You too, Parker. Holy shit." He struggled for a minute to sit up as Parker backed off and stood up awkwardly.

"Nice beard."

"Fuck. I mean, Hardison said, but. Damn, girl!" He grabbed her again and laughed, glancing at Hardison over her shoulder. "And he _also_ said you weren't gonna be around until tonight."

"Huh? Parker stepped back, scowling in puzzlement. "It _is_ evening, Eliot."

"Yeah, man. You've been out cold all day."

"Seriously?" Eliot glanced out the window and groaned. The sky was about the same shade it had been when he'd fallen asleep, but there was no doubt that only a few moments had passed. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. You're up in time for dinner, anyway. Which is my cue to go down and get it together. Any requests?"

"Got anything that isn't oatmeal?"

"Chili, spaghetti, or mac and cheese with whatever vegetables I grab at random. Parker, you staying?"

"Do you have enough?"

"Yeah, we're good," Alec said, ducking his head back into the room. "Remind me, there's more stuff for Lisa in the safe, you should grab it when you get the chance."

\--

"So catch me up, how the hell are you? What's goin' on?" Eliot stretched and decided that maybe some painkillers weren't the worst idea in the world.

"What's Hardison told you?" Parker sat down on the chair, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

"Not much. Looks like he nearly got killed last night, but took the bastard out."

"He was just finishing cleaning up when I got here," she said. "Do you think he's okay?"

Eliot gave it some thought. "I don't know. Haven't talked to him much. Think he will be, though."

Parker nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's sick, but I've kind of been waiting for something like this for a while now. People've been weird since the world ended." She bit her lip and glanced to the side. "I've had to kill a few people myself. I didn't tell him, though."

"Why not?"

"He's _Hardison_."

"Yeah."

"What about you?" At Eliot's questioning look, she elaborated. "Where've you been? You been okay? Talk to anyone? Had to kill anyone?"

"Came up from South America. Few fights on the way that never went as far as killing, but one was a close thing. Um. Got a letter from Sophie when I came into town."

"Really? She's okay?"

"Last I heard, it's a few months old, though it said Nate was fine, too."

"Good," Parker sighed, happily, and it wasn't until then that he realized exactly how worried she'd seemed. "Wait a minute. How'd she get the letter to you?"

"Not sure. She managed to have the guards looking out for me, and they just handed it over when I got here. Thought it was orders from up the chain at first, and the guards did too, so I didn't ask them about it."

"Why would you be getting orders?"

"Shit's gone to hell, they're looking for all the help they can get. I'm guessing could be on a list somewhere or something. People getting called back in."

"But you don't have orders?"

"No, I have Sophie's orders."

"And what were they?"

"To find you guys," Eliot said. "Letter's in the side pocket of that bag, if you want to take a look at it."

Parker slid the pack closer and undid the zipper silently, finding the creased paper and running her eyes over it. Eliot stopped watching when it looked like she was about to start crying.

\---

There was movement upstairs, and soon Parker and Eliot would be coming down. Alec could hear her telling him about the night the church on Arlington Street burned down, and how she'd accidentally wound up with seven children, three teenagers, and one and a half married couples following her back to the hideaway she'd made for herself in the attic of the nearby high school.

"…and after that, it just sort of started growing from there. There's about sixty people living there now. The adults take shifts working security, and we've found enough stuff to get the kids back into the classrooms, but it's weird. Not like how school was when I was a kid at all. And there's nobody teaching chemistry, but nobody seems to mind."

"Can't say I blame them," Eliot said as they wandered into the break room, just as Alec was pulling the chili off the hotplate. "Hey, man, you need help with any of that?"

"Nah, I got it." Parker went to the drawer to find some silverware, and a few minutes later, they were sitting down around one of the empty tables. There were plenty to choose from. "You awake yet, Eliot?"

"I think so. Yeah?" Eliot yawned, regarding his chili blearily for a moment before starting to eat.

"So what's it like out there?" Alec asked, after a few minutes, needing to distract himself from the blandness of the food. He'd done what he could with it, but the spice rack was running dangerously low. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Parker completely ignoring her food in favor of staring at Eliot.

Eliot shrugged, swallowing before speaking. "Ain't all that different from here, but everyone's moving. Everything's fucked, all the way down to Florida. The Midwest is totally screwed, apparently there was enough radiation getting through that the crops aren't gonna recover anytime soon. Pretty much stuck to the coastal states on the way up. Don't know anything about, like, California or anything. Nobody's really figured anything out yet. There's nowhere to go, but people are going anyway, you know?"

"Yeah," Alec said, unsure why the prognosis, which he'd guessed at already, was so damned depressing.

"So anyway. What's the deal with this Cornelius dude?"

\---

Eliot wasn't ready for the dark look that crossed both Parker and Alec's faces. It took a few moments for Alec to start.

"Bad news, man. Got a stranglehold on the supply chain. Set up shop out in the harbor, has a huge crew, they're blocking relief agencies from getting in. You can still get stuff from him, but the markup is insane. He's been taking advantage of people, getting them so into debt that they're stuck with him as unwilling allies. He and his crew run around collecting debts. They've raped some people, beat up others, and he's got us locked in on the East and West sides."

"We've been making deals with some of the gangs, trying to get them organized, but it's like herding three legged cats," Parker explained. "And it's getting worse," she glanced over at Hardison. "What I was coming over to tell you. Have you heard the radio lately?"

"Not today, no."

"Some people were talking. Apparently the relief agencies are getting so fed up with people like Cornelius that they're talking about pulling out to reassess their delivery models. Could get ugly real quick."

"Uglier, you mean," Eliot grumbled. "You guys made any deals with him yet?"

"Haven't had to," Alec answered, the _yet_ hanging heavily in the air. "Been able to hold out so far 'cause of the deal we've got set up here. People want to get stuff mailed, they have to contribute. It's enough to feed us and the runners, with extra for the school, but people are running out of things to trade. Don't know how long it's going to last."

"This could be good, then," Eliot said. "I mean, yeah, it's gonna get tight, but if Cornelius doesn’t have resources anymore…"

"Then he's just going to come in and try to get them from us," Parker said. "Start collecting on his debts worse than before."

"Yeah. Guess so," Eliot admitted, stirring at his chili, his head miles away. "Sophie said you were gonna make a move on him?"

"Planning on it, but don't know how, not really. Hoping to get enough people on side to deal with him head on, but it's been ages, and people are hungry and scared. And even if we knock him out, someone else could easily step in."

"Sophie said she's getting Nate out and heading here. Don't know when or if she's going to be able to put it off," Eliot started, but Alec was pulling a grim face.

"Yeah, but how long can we sit and wait for them?"

"I know, it's just. I'm thinkin' out loud, here. Okay. So. We need to get him and his people out without creating a power vacuum. They're armed?"

"To the teeth." Parker confirmed as Alec nodded. "All of them."

"Okay. So they're better armed and there are a lot of them. They've got the harbor and the west side."

"Closing in on the south, too," Alec said. "Least that's what I hear. Intel's scarce, man. We're runnin' blind up in here."

"Okay. So if they get the north side, Boston's boxed in, and there's no stoppin' them. Right." Eliot ran his hands over his face in frustration, scratching at his beard. "Right. Well. I got nothin', man. Give me a bit, I'll come up with something'."

\---

Alec was sliding the window shut behind Parker when he saw Mica hurrying down the block, looking agitated. And unless the kid was a hell of a lot less smooth than he usually made out to be, it wasn't just the date he was worried about. Alec was opening the front door before Mica had a chance to go for his key.

"Alec, man. It's bad. Tre's dead. Got shot workin' Janice's route. Looks like she went down yesterday. You know Jimmy?"

"He's Kings, right? They pressin' the border?"

Mica shrugged. "They ain't had any problem with anyone on those blocks, more'n usual. Just the mail, or something. King's are mountin' up, it's gonna get ugly real fast." Mica shook his head, dropping the bag on the floor.  "Janice didn't have family, right?"

"Not that she ever said."

"Right," Mica nodded, rolling his neck and sighing. "Look, man. I gotta go tell Tre's Mama."

Alec was getting _damned_ tired of this shit, this entire fucking life. "Want me to do it, you got that girl-"

"Maria can wait," Mica rolled his eyes.  There was a story there, but it wasn't the one they needed to talk about.  "I've known Tre's mama since forever, she should hear it from me, y'know?"

"Yeah," Alec sighed. "Hey, look. Tell her I'm really sorry, and Tre's deal still stands. We can call it a pension, or something."

"Right on," Mica's smirk was nearly a sneer, for all the humor that was lacking, so Hardison made the same deal. "And same for you, if you want to retire. You want out, it's cool. Figure you've just made partner, at this point."

Mica snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, man. Ain't like that. I'm not some charity case. I'll be back tomorrow-"

"No you ain't. Mail can wait a few days. I got to think about some shit, sort out a new plan, alright?" It was a pathetic offering, but it was all he had, really. Mica nodded, and Alec pretended not to notice that he had his gun drawn even before stepping outside.

\---

It took forever to hack through the beard with the scissors in order to get it short enough to shave, but finally, it was done. The result wasn't much of anything to write home about. The newly revealed skin was pale, standing out in stark contrast to the deep tan of his face, thinner than he remembered it being.

 _Then again_ , he thought, glancing down at his shadow-lined ribs, _it's not exactly something to be surprised by, now, is it?_ He'd already gone down four waist sizes, a long time ago. He looked fucking _ill_ , like he'd died on the road and his body hadn't gotten the message yet, and the illusion would've been more easily dissipated if the process of shaving hadn't wiped him the hell out.

And now he was supposed to come up with a plan to take out Cornelius. Because Alec, apparently, couldn't hack it.

Couldn't hack it. Maybe that was the problem.

And shit, from what it sounded like, this wasn't just one bad guy taking advantage. It was as close to the opening volley of a war as Alec had ever been, maybe Parker, too. It was no wonder they were spinning their wheels. This was Eliot's game. He could do this. He'd done it before. Started it, ended it, whatever needed doing, he'd done.

He'd never done it feeling this damned tired, though. Never this close to home.

And he'd never pull it off, either. Not if he kept staring himself down in the mirror trying to guess how much life he had left in him.

\---

He was ready for Hardison's teasing when he made it back downstairs, but found only rigid shoulders, crossed arms, and eyes looking out the windows, seeing nothing. He was fucking _still_.

"Hardison?" Eliot stepped back when Alec started. "Hey, sorry, man, what-" He fell silent when he realized that there was nothing at all in Alec's eyes. No humor, no sadness, no anger. Nothing that Eliot could even hope to read. "Alec?"

"We lost two more today. Good people."

"What happened?"

"Cornelius, it looks like. Took out Tre and Janice."

"Janice?"

"Another mail runner. She was," Alec shrugged. "Doesn't matter," and he turned his attention to the pack lying on the floor.

"She was what?"

"Just this chick. Been homeless for a year before it all went down. She was a little off, like, quiet, didn't trust people, not ever. Not even me, probably. Moved around a lot, didn't even know until today."

"When did it happen?"

"Yesterday. I should have known yesterday."

"Why?"

"I sent Tre out to cover her route. Same thing happened-" Alec's jaw clenched shut angrily, and he glanced sidelong at Eliot. "I've killed three people in two days. What's your record?"

 _If you really wanted to know that, you'd have looked it up by now_ , Eliot thought about answering, but that wasn't what this was about anyway. "A lot more than that, man."

"Does it get easier?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, at length. He wouldn't be doing Alec any favors, lying to him. Giving him platitudes about _wanting_ it to be hard, to kill a person, about how it makes you human, but maybe they didn't live in that world any more. "Yeah it does."

\---

"Gotta get you some fake tanning lotion or something for your face. There's a big stripe across it," Alec mumbled into his shoulder, once the lights were out.

"Yeah," Eliot grimaced at the ceiling and shifted, his movement making Alec resettle against him. _This,_ then, was what they were doing. Talking around things. Trying to make jokes. "I noticed. Think the drug store is still open?"

"It's probably all that's left, man."

"I'm sure I could pick up a few bottles of nail polish." Eliot couldn't imagine that there'd been too many people looking for manicures, lately.

"Nah, that stuff's better than ink. Doesn't run when it gets wet," Alec replied, reminding him of all the signs he'd seen coming in to town Bible passages and signs offering work in trade for supplies.   _Have you seen Rebecca,_  and _The world hasn't finished ending, yet_. "But if you want, we can go find you a curling iron or something in the morning."

"Okay," Eliot didn't feel up to laughing, but it needed some sort of acknowledgement.

"I need you to show me how to do what you do."

"What d'you mean?"

"Disarming people. Not letting people get killed."

"Okay. It's a lot of practice, and-"

"Don't worry, my expectations, at this point, are pretty low." He rolled onto his back. "But this sucks ass."

"Nothing you could have done about Janice and Tre."

"Yeah, but. It's gotta be karma, right? Like, what was Nate talking about? Chess. I take a pawn, they take out my bishop and knight."

That, maybe- the fucking _void_ in his voice- was a sign that Eliot had been waiting for, or maybe a switch had just been flipped, or maybe this was all just the way shit went sometimes.

And the stutter in Alec's breathing? It fucking _killed_.

Eliot rolled over on his left knee, until he was more or less straddling him, squinting hard to see through the darkness, giving him no option but to listen. "Look, man. I know you aren't going to hear this right now, but that dude? He attacked _you_ , right?"

"And if I knew what I was doing, I-"

"Yeah, and if I'd been there, you wouldn’t have had to," Eliot grumbled, wishing that it was true, suddenly aware that Alec might feel the weight of him, how little of it there was, how inconsequential he'd become. "But there's a hundred different ways that could've played out. You could be dead, already, or worse, still in the _process_ of dying. You could've clipped him, he might have run, or he might've fought back harder. You did what you're supposed to do with a gun."

"What's that?" Alec asked, reluctantly, his arms shifting slightly under Eliot's hands, his breath held steady. Faking it until he could make it.

"Shoot to kill. You don't draw if you're not intending to use it. Ever. Got that?"

Another breath, then, "yeah."

"You still have the gun?"

Alec hesitated before answering, but he was staring at some point on Eliot's neck. "Box on the loading dock. Got others, though. All over the place."

"Okay. Good to know."

"Okay?" Alec snorted up at him, and Eliot wasn't sure how much of Alec's expression he was imagining. "Thought you hated the things."

"I do. But it kept you alive, so I'm willing to make concessions, alright? Just." He was starting to feel a little foolish, hanging over Alec like this. Presumptive, intrusive, arrogant. But Alec hadn't shoved him away, yet. "Maybe in the morning, I'll start showing you some stuff. Ain't up for much sparring, but we can start you on disarming techniques. Deal?"

Alec was looking at him straight on as he nodded, and for a moment, Eliot had to wonder if it was only because he thought Eliot couldn't see him in the near-total darkness. He was a little surprised when Alec's hand brushed up along his side and rested there, heavy weight, and suddenly it was his turn to miss a breath.

The last time they'd been like this, there had been streetlights reflecting off snow and the sound of airplanes landing at Logan coming in through the window. He'd been proving a point, and Alec had been laughing him off but not shoving him aside, yet, and neither of them had been thinking about what they'd had right then.

Eliot fucking missed it, but Alec's hand hadn't moved, and this was close as they'd come, maybe was as close as they'd get, and right then, there was no sound, no light. Nothing in the world but the two of them, only it didn't feel like an ending, anymore.

Experimentally, Eliot ran a hand up Alec's arm until it was resting over his collarbone, using it to steady himself as he leaned down. The pressure on his side increased, sliding around to his back and stubble rasped against his mouth in the moments before their lips met. They were kissing before he'd had time to process anything besides _soft_ and _teeth_ and a tension in his chest that loosened all at once, sparking out towards his skin.

When he brushed against Alec's temple, there was dampness there, but he pretended not to notice. Deepened the kiss in case Alec noticed him noticing.

He used to get annoyed when Alec tugged at his hair, but when his fingers caught this time, accidentally on purpose, he let himself be steered, pulled closer until he was nearly lying down, until the sweatshirt was far too warm, until he could feel the shifting of Alec's shoulder blades under his fingers.

Until he couldn't breathe anymore, and didn't really care, because he'd stolen all of Alec's breath first, leaving him just enough left to laugh quietly into Eliot's ear.

"Even without the tan, still looks better gone," Alec murmured into his neck, ridiculously. "The beard. Not your face, because that would just be unsettling."

Eliot meant to say something to the effect of _not half as unsettling as you being gone,_  but there were kisses being pressed into the corner of his jaw, and then Alec was moving back, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him down.

Eliot crashed into him, sliding slightly to the side and manhandling him into a more comfortable position. He hadn't planned on going far, and from the looks of it, Alec wouldn't have let him.

It was only a vague blurred flash as he shifted his head, just before the curtain of hair obscured what little vision he had left, but he was nearly sure that Alec was grinning. Not quite the wide mouthed beam he got sometimes, but it was more than he'd been wearing, lately.

Fucking gorgeous, by comparison, even if Eliot wasn't sure he'd actually seen it.  



	7. Chapter 7

  
Alec was a little concerned when Eliot wasn't awake first, but mostly because he didn't know what to do with himself. Last night had been so easy, some old habit they'd both slipped into, but maybe it had all been accidental, leading to nothing more than lying here, trying to decide whether or not to get out of bed, leave before Eliot woke. It hadn't seemed such a big deal, last night. Nothing like a crisis.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Alec had been used to waking up to an empty bed, getting up to find the coffee already made and Eliot up to his elbows in potting soil, or reading a book on the couch.

Now things were different. But the bed was warm, and he didn't really have to go to the bathroom all that badly, not really, and leaving him to wake alone suddenly wasn't as easy as it might have been. Their legs weren't tangled, just slotted together like loosely knit fingers, Eliot's thigh sprawled in between his own, warm breath steadily washing over his collarbone.

Alec shifted, half hoping to jostle him to awareness, his movements slight enough that he could deny his purpose if need be. Eliot twitched, asked "Hardison?" and went back to sleep before he could answer.

Alec could give it another hour. Maybe then he'd do something.

\---

He lasted an hour and half, until the room started becoming uncomfortably warm and stuffy, and when he rose, Eliot barely stirred.

\---

The supplies were starting to get dangerously low, and with Eliot here, he'd have to go out again soon, probably by the end of the month. He considered the safe with regret. There were two fewer carriers to pay out, but he still had to cover Eliot as well, and unless something worked out, soon, nobody would have anything with which to pay postage, anyway. Already the food supplies had begun dwindling, though he had an overstock of toothpaste and razors and shampoo. A few afternoons of lucky scrounging on the local blocks might put it off by a week, but the grocery store was long tapped out, as was the warehouse.

He pulled out some instant oatmeal and got the water boiling for coffee, and stared at the window wondering what things were going to look like when everyone finally ran out.

When Eliot finally came down, moving slowly, he was carrying his pack, but before Alec could wonder what that meant, he began to pull out cans and envelopes, setting them at the end of the counter.

"Don't know where you want me to put this stuff," he said, yawning as he reached for the thermos. "I can go out and look for more whenever, too. Pay my way. No problem."

"Right on," Alec nodded, regarding a ziplock bag full of hot chocolate packets, and decided that he could stop worrying for another day or so.

\---

"So what's going on?" Eliot asked, shifting his pack and noting, again, the outline of the handgun stuck in Alec's waistband they rounded the last corner before the school. "What's with the tools?"

"They said they were going to have enough of the solar panels connected by today, so I can start hooking them up. You down to assist?"

"Sure," Eliot shrugged. He could see a few of them, now, on the roof of the school, and wondered how many more would need to be installed to actually run the building. "How much power is it going to put out?"

"As long as the roof of the school is kept clear of snow, enough to pump and heat a decent amount of water, long as nobody's prissy about their showers, and keep two classrooms going. Gonna mount more on the playground equipment when it's starts getting darker, get some lights going on inside."

As they reached the chain link fence, Eliot had to wonder how much good it would actually do against someone wanting to get in, and down the way, a few kids horsing around were proving his point. The guy standing at the entrance, however, seemed not to notice as he unlocked the laughable gate, and Eliot followed Hardison past the jungle gym and the swing set.

As defenses went, it was pretty weak, but he wasn't about to say so. Maybe it made them feel better, or something. Then again, if he understood it correctly, this entire place was kind of Parker's game, so when he spotted the rifles pointed out of some of the windows, he wasn't all that surprised.

Still, though, it just didn't feel right, all this firepower on the playground.

\---

Heading through the building, Hardison stopped here and there to make introductions, or point out store rooms or the places where people were living, but Eliot was having a hard time paying attention. Nobody really knew where Parker stayed. Somewhere in the ceiling, apparently. It wasn't all that surprising.

He hadn't been ready, though, to see this many people in one place _behaving_ themselves, but there were people scattered throughout the building, a woman doing some knitting in one corner, an older guy sanding some wood down by hand over in the shop. As they progressed through the halls, he could hear a woman's voice talking, and the sounds of kids laughing in response.

Class was in session. The world went on, apparently.

\---

In what had to be one of the stranger jobs in his career as a retrieval specialist, Eliot unloaded his pack and handed over what had felt like thirty pounds of baby supplies to a woman named Lisa who looked like she'd need it, _soon_. While she and Hardison chatted, he pulled out the diapers and bottles and socks and formula and tried to imagine what it had to feel like to bring a kid into a world that looked like this. Couldn't do it. From the look in her eyes, she couldn't, either, so he didn't ask. Just listened as the small talk ran out, until the three of them were standing there, nobody saying much of anything.

He was relieved when they finally made it to the roof, and he was surprised to see that every available inch was covered in racks holding solar panels. A guy that looked to be about Alec's age came out from behind the array at the far end, waving them over, and a few minutes later, Eliot was drafted to start running wires.

For the first hour, it felt good to be doing something that felt like work again, but as the day wore on, the heat started to wear at him. By the end of it, though, apparently they'd be able to have more than one tiny refrigerator up and running, and a few fans as well.

Parker made her way up around four in the afternoon, still rubbing at her eyes and glaring balefully at the sun, fanning herself with an old magazine.

"There's nothing about this that is at all civilized," she grumbled, but Eliot as looked around, watching Alec testing another connection, he figured that this might be about as good as it got.

\---

It was dark by the time they headed back, and if Alec was tired, then Eliot, staggering alongside him, had to be the walking dead. It set Alec's teeth on edge, cutting through a parking garage and heading into an alley, trying to see around corners, waiting for attack and wondering if Eliot could pull his weight. It wasn't until the office was in view that he relaxed enough to ask him, "You okay, man?"

"Fine, man. Just wore myself out on the trip up, you know?"

"Right on," Alec started to say, already thinking about what to do about dinner as he reached for the door handle, but Eliot pulled him up short.

"What?"

 _Someone's in there_ , Eliot glared, _shut the hell up_ , shoving Alec to the wall in a move that had Alec automatically swinging to his hip to steady a computer bag that hadn't been there in months.

Peering through the dark window, he couldn't see what Eliot saw, at first, but then there was movement, over at the end of the counter, and it was enough to send Alec back against the wall, just in time to see who he thought was Mica coming from across the street.

Mica probably wouldn't be taking aim at him though, and as much as Alec would have liked to believe it was because Mica was a friend, practically, it was because he knew Mica carried a sawed off shotgun, not the gleaming silver handgun that was pointing at him.

Eliot noticed when Alec froze, turning slowly, glancing up along the upper windows of the buildings across the street as his eyes landed on the gunman.

"What do you want?" He called out, mirroring Alec's upturned hands.

"You two. Inside," the man shouted, and Alec wanted to laugh, even though it wasn't funny. _That was our plan the entire time._

Alec wasn't surprised to find the lock completely destroyed as he followed Eliot through the door, but at least the men waiting inside hadn't ransacked the place.

No, this was going to be something else entirely. That was Cornelius, there, standing at the end.

\---

Inside, Eliot found five more guys, almost comically well-dressed. They were players, who wanted everyone to _know_ they were players. Eliot was guessing this was Cornelius's crew, but couldn't assume much of anything. He hadn't even gotten around to asking for a description, yet.

They were waved over to stand against the bulletin board where he noticed the pictures of some old acquaintances hanging among the other "Wanted" posters, and postage rate notices, before turning to keep his eye on the room. He was a little surprised to find five guns were trained on him and only one on Alec, who was standing a few feet away.

It wasn't a fifty-fifty split, and he couldn't figure out how they had any idea what Eliot could do to them, given half a chance, even this one. He watched carefully, looking for adjustments in their stance, any tells they might have had.

One of the men, a large guy who probably had a decent amount of muscle underneath all that girth, with olive skin and thick black hair, started talking to Alec.

"I know you know me, Mister Hardison, and I suspect you know why we're here. I want you to reach slowly for your gun and put it on the floor," he spoke to Alec, but his words told Eliot two things.

These guys had no idea who he was, but the number of guns they had on him wasn't because they'd him as a threat, it was the opposite. He was the hostage, Alec was what had them concerned, and if Alec fucked up, Eliot went down. That was the first.

They were cautious, too. They didn't know for sure that Alec would be at all swayed by Eliot's being shot, so the sixth gun was on him, just in case. There wasn't time for more than a flash of amusement that Alec would ever be perceived as the greater threat. The next few seconds were more useful.

Alec did as the man- who had to be Cornelius- said, telegraphing his every move.

"Now slide it across to me," Cornelius instructed, which told Eliot that the guy had some game. If Alec had slid it to the man aiming at him, it would have given Alec the chance to take advantage of that man's distraction.

On the practical side, it also meant Eliot couldn't take advantage of any distraction that _Hardison_ would have caused, but it would've been a stupid play, anyhow. He waited, training his eyes on Cornelius in between carefully wary glances at the crew's guns. No need to tip his hat just yet.

"Alright, now to business," Cornelius said, lowering his gun and taking two steps in Hardison's direction. "I have a proposition for you. Our plan this morning was to kill you and take over your operation. However, when we arrived and I had the opportunity to examine the nuts and bolts, I've revised my plan."

"Oh yeah?" Alec asked, because that was what Cornelius had obviously been waiting for. Some indication that he was listening, willing to talk. Alec's gunman slipped behind Cornelius and reset his aim on Eliot. Things were running smoothly. No surprises. Eliot let himself relax, but only a little.

This was where he bided his time and hoped Hardison didn't fuck it all up.

"Yes. It would take a while for my men to learn how to run your operation on their own, and there would be a lag in services I would prefer to avoid. Because of that, I would like to keep you on as postmaster general," he said in a haughty tone, clearly amused by his own blathering.

"What does that entail?"

"I want you do what you do, and train my men to assist you. Make sure the mail gets to where it needs to be, and start pulling materials that I have an interest in. My men will inform you of what to look out for. You'd also be responsible for the front desk operations, as I believe that your place in the community will allow the operation to go more smoothly than it would were my representatives be used in that capacity. For better or worse, reputation gets around, and while a healthy wariness of us does serve us in most regards, it won't work if people are reluctant to come in, understand?"

"Yeah," Alec said, and Eliot shifted so that he could see him out of the corner of his eye without turning his head too far. "You want me to run the place under your new guidelines. You install your crew in the background. Basic merger."

"Yes, and nobody gets hurt. You yourself may soon be operating at a profit, should you prove yourself effective. You would, of course, be paid along the same terms that my men enjoy."

And this was the corner they'd been forced into. Outright denial meant a fight here and now, but complete capitulation would prove Alec could be strong-armed very easily in the future.

"What's the catch?" Alec asked, and Eliot very nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't asked questions he didn't need the answers to, and he hadn't freaked out. He was keeping it rolling, not bringing it to a head. _Smart boy_.

"Of course, once operations resume, we will need to increase security," Cornelius said. "You will have to find other lodgings. I will be installing guards around the clock in a few days, giving you ample time to order your affairs."

It was a strange play on Cornelius' part, but thankfully, Alec saw it too. "Have to ask, man," Alec said, with just enough humor in his voice to show that he was on the ball, not enough to show that he was thrown by it. "Why wait? You know you've got the advantage here."

"It does neither of us any good to start screwing each other so early in the relationship. And frankly? There's nothing here, of yours, that we need or want." Cornelius glanced over in Eliot's direction, then signaled his men to lower their guns. "Do we have a deal?"

Alec seemed to give it some thought, but thankfully not too much. "Yeah, sure man, but I'm gonna need some time to clear out."

"Of course. When are you expecting your next delivery?"

"We're down to one guy, he's coming in day after tomorrow, I think. Pickup in the morning, drop off at night."

"Will he be on board?"

"He gonna get paid?"

"Of course, if he's amenable."

"Then yeah, probably. But he should hear it form me, first."

"Then we will come by two nights from now to begin. Is that acceptable?"

"Not a problem," Alec said.

"Then I will see you in two days. Good evening, gentlemen," Cornelius said, finally glancing again in Eliot's direction as he stepped towards the door.

"See ya," Alec nodded, waving as the men trailed out. "And for the record? You didn't need the guns." Eliot had to fight not to cringe.

"One can never be too careful," Cornelius shrugged, letting the door fall shut behind him as he left.

\---

"What the hell was that?" Eliot growled, finally able to move once they'd gone. "People know when they're having their ass kissed."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Overselling the part and all that, you could've done it a thousand times better, blah, blah, blah." Hardison rolled his eyes. "But it's cool, man. Well. We've got an in, at least."

Eliot snorted. "You've got an in, it means you've got an in into _their_ game. They're _movin' in_ , Hardison. _Here._ "

"Whatever, man," Alec said, walking towards the counter, and started straightening up, glancing at the open binders and folders scattered over the top, growing more distracted by them as he went.

"What is it?"

"Don't know yet, but." He glanced up. "It's weird, right? I mean, we figured they'd be moving in once their external resources were cut, right?"

"Yeah."

"But he didn't mention the postage."

"Don't doubt that they're going to take their share," Eliot warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But he was actually talking about training his guys in. They want access to the mail, not the postage." Suddenly he grimaced and slammed his hand on the counter. _Damn_ it!"

"What?"

"Local mail is pretty much dead, within the neighborhoods. Pretty much everything is coming in, or going out of town."

Eliot shrugged. "So?"

"So. They've already got most of Boston. They wouldn't need the mail unless they were trying to communicate over longer distances. They're branching out."

"Shit." It made sense, but he hadn't honestly thought that anyone would be _this_ organized, that they were that far ahead in the game. He glanced down at the binder Alec was staring at. "What's all that?"

"Postal service's emergency plan- or what there _is_ of it- doesn't look like it was officially taken on. All the offices in the country had a draft on hand for review." Alec glanced up like he knew he was rambling, and cut himself off.

"This, here," he flipped through the thick stack of pages, revealing table after table after table. "These are the metrics they use for sorting and routing. Strictly office to office. So, you look here, zip codes and all that. They get sorted at central locations-"

"Yeah, I know all this-" Eliot had to fight off a yawn, but he was too concerned to be tired, really.

"This was all done electronically a year ago. But now there's no power, never mind all the other confusion. Getting the mail out to the transfer points at the guard posts is the biggest issue I've got to handle, but from there, they've got to get everything redistributed to get delivered to other transfer points, nation wide. Some of it was getting out on military trucks, but I'm guessing you weren't seeing too many of those on the road?"

"No."

"So it's all on foot. Something gets routed wrong because of human error, you're looking at month long delays on _top_ of the time it takes in the first place."

"Okay, yeah." Eliot backed off. He'd never given it much thought. "But I never saw any mailmen out there."

"Doubt they're advertising their presence. We're back to the middle ages, here. Pony Express if we're _lucky_. Anyway. So Cornelius was looking at all this, and I'm thinking he did what everyone does when they're confronted with a bunch of un-interpreted data. He panicked."

It wasn't making enough sense, yet, to do anything but make Eliot uneasy. "So they're keeping you on to make sure they've got control of the information."

Alec's head bounced from side to side for a moment before he shrugged. "It's what _I'd_ do."

"But _what_ information? What do they need it for?"

"If they're letting us have the run of the place for the next day or two, then it can't be something that's here already," Alec shrugged, doubt flashing through his eyes. When he said, "I guess we'll have to wait and see when the mail comes," he probably didn't know that he was confirming the worst of Eliot's doubts.

"Nuh-uh, man." Eliot said, snorting to himself as he finally realized the play that was being made. " _You_ start packing up." Glancing at the door, he jerked his head. "I gotta go out for a bit."

Hardison scoffed, trying to hide his sudden sharp concern. "You're gonna do something stupid, aren't you?"

"Relax, man. I'm just looking for another place to crash. Don't want anyone knowing where it is, so the fewer eyes on the street, the better." He ducked into the break room to grab a handful of candy bars. Bribes, in case he needed them.

"Any eyes on the street right now aren't going to be the ones you'd want finding you," Alec pointed out, though it sounded like he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Eliot had run solo through Afghanistan with nothing more than a map that didn't show where the newest blocked roads had been. He'd walked blind through the tunnels of New York City. As ugly as this all was, he could handle a town he knew like the back of his hand.

He pretended to notice the thoughts so obviously crossing Alec's mind as he glanced over Eliot's body. If he didn't notice them, they couldn't gain purchase, and it wasn't like he didn't already know how tired he was.

"Hardison, I'll be fine," he assured him, stepping closer until only a few breaths stood between them. "I'll go out, see what I can see, and be back in a few hours. Just. Get your stuff together and be ready to go, alright?"

Alec nodded, nostrils flaring as he glanced out the windows. "Alright. Watch your back out there, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

\---

Before he'd left, Alec had grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, quick and chaste, barely giving him enough time to respond. As he made his way out into the street, Eliot found himself almost wishing that he hadn't. It made it seem like a bigger deal than it was, Hardison being so nervous about it.

Then again, maybe he'd been onto him, suspecting that he'd been leaving something out. Or maybe knowing _exactly_ what he'd been leaving out.

He needed intel. All that he could get.

Cornelius and his guys were on foot, and it was late enough that they were probably heading back to their base, somewhere on the west side. Anyone out on the street would have recognized them, and with any luck, the watchmen patrolling the area around the school would be able to tell him something.

All Eliot needed was enough information to leapfrog ahead of Cornelius, get in, keep low, and figure out the next part of the plan. The shortcut to the school Alec had shown him seemed the best route, so he hurried his steps, unaware of the eyes that followed him from the third floor of the parking garage across the street.

He kept to the shadows, listening carefully for the sounds of anything. Gave a wide berth to the first shadow he saw, standing in the doorway of the corner café, the moment he noticed the gun. Took another breath once he'd turned down the street, passing without incident.

A few blocks away, shots were fired from a Springfield 9 Mil. There were no return shots, and Eliot quickened his pace.

Any minute now, he'd be hitting the gangland buffer around the school, so he took his hands out of his pockets, keeping carefully to the middle of the street and walking steadily. When the flashlights suddenly glared in his eye, he was careful not to flinch.

"What's your name?" A woman's voice called out from the left as he squinted sidelong to catch the glare of what looked to be an M4 Carbine, maybe a Bushmaster-it was hard to tell in the darkness- being aimed his way.

"Eliot Spencer. Friend of Parker's. I'm unarmed," he hadn't finished saying when he saw the gun being lowered.

"He's cool," the gunman's voice called out, and Eliot thought he recognized it. One of the guys he'd met at the school, probably. It was hard to tell.

"It's clear from here on in," the woman said, swinging the flashlight to swing down the street. "Have a nice night."

Eliot didn't drop his guard as he headed onwards, so when he'd nearly reached the edge of the playground, the sound of the swings creaking in the wind didn't distract him from the scuffing noise of footfalls stepping suddenly behind him.

Instantly, he knew he'd fucked up.

Cornelius hadn't given them a two day's notice out of the kindness of his heart. He'd wanted a chance to see what they'd do. It was _spy versus spy_ , and he'd led them straight to Parker.

He could afford a few more steps before it became obvious that he was playing for time. Any second now, he'd have to turn around.

\---


	8. Chapter 8

  
Eliot wasn't back yet.

After emptying the cupboards into boxes and bags, Alec was left pondering which clothes to take and which to discard. Didn't give it overmuch thought, though. Hell, if things went all right, he'd be able to grab more later. And if not? Affordable loss.

The postcard from under his bed went in last. Admitting his superstition, he didn't look at it as he slid it between the socks and the side of the bag.

Moving had never been so easy, he decided, setting the bags side by side on the table in the break room, but there was no sense of accomplishment.

Eliot still wasn't back.

\---

The giggling behind him gave it all away, and Eliot spun on his heel, scowl already in place.

" _Dammit_ , Parker! What the hell, are you tryin' to give me a heart attack or something?"

"Been following you since you left Hardison's," she said, the grin still playing at the edges of her mouth. "When you left, earlier, Lucinda said that Cornelius had been spotted heading over there. Went to check up on you guys."

Eliot bit the inside of his lip in annoyance, but he was too tired to put up much of a fight. "You should have stayed there, kept an eye out while I was gone."

"Would have, but it was easier to take out the guy that was watching the place. Figured it was best to follow you back in case you picked up a tail."

"Yeah?" Eliot hadn't noticed, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Your people didn't see you, you know," he pointed out instead, following her inside.

"They're good, but I'm better. What happened over at Hardison's?"

"Cornelius wants the post office. We're moving out, but Hardison's going to work for them. Well. You know."

"Could be useful. You can both crash here if you want," she offered, waving her hand around vaguely. "Plenty of room."

"Actually, I was hoping you knew of somewhere else. If the deal goes to hell, nobody's gonna want it brought back here."

Parker stared out the cafeteria windows as she gave it some thought. "I've got a backup hideout out in that neighborhood if you want. There's water, but no power other than one generator and a few week's worth of fuel."

"That works," Eliot confirmed, and Parker pulled a key out of her back pocket, and one from her shoe. "Basement of the Sovereign Bank, Beacon and Charles, but you get into the building through the last window on Bryant. The keys will get you inside. The generator's on the third floor, and there's water in the basement. Don't waste your time with the vault," she yawned, "it's boring."

"Cool. Thanks," he said, pocketing the keys. "Anyway. That wasn't the only reason I'm here. Was wondering if anyone's seen Cornelius coming by this way after he left Hardison's?"

"Saw them heading east from Hardison's," Parker shook her head. "Don't know if it's because they think they've got the west side sewn up, now, or if something's starting to go down in the harbor, but for the past few days, it's been quiet on the west side."

"Shit," Eliot contemplated the long hike back past Alec's and out to the harbor. "You know where they stay out there?"

"They've got a base on one of the dead ships. You went out there now, you'd know which one. I don't know if they've gotten it fully operable, but there's fuel in the generators enough to power the search lights."

"Shit." As defensive positions went, it was unimpeachable, without a hell of a lot of groundwork. Boats were easily spotted, even at night, and submarines? Hard to come by, even if he could find the people to run it. Scuba it was, then. Diving.

 _Fucking hell_.

\---

Alec wasn't sure that he didn't jump when he heard the door slam shut downstairs, but a few moments later, Eliot's voice was calling out.

"I'm up here," he said, finding his cool and setting another packed bag on the floor next to the bed. He listened to his steps on the stairs. "You find a place?"

"Yeah, Parker's hooking us up. The Sovereign, over on Beacon. We can head over whenever we want, she said."

"Sounds good."

"There's another thing," Eliot said, leaning against the doorway. "She thinks Cornelius is out at the harbor, now. On one of the ships. I can get out there, but I'm gonna need diving gear."

"I _knew_ it," Alec shook his head and turned. "You went looking for him, didn't you?"

Eliot set his shoulders back, but he looked more exhausted than defiant. And he was holding out, if his eyes were any indication. "I asked some questions."

"I don't get it, man," Alec pulled his shoes off and sat on the edge of the mattress. "You _know_ we can just wait and see what they're planning when they get here."

"You gonna be satisfied with whatever bullshit they're selling?"

"Fair point." Alec thought for a moment, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "You know, by the time we manage to find the gear to get you out playing Aquaman the Idiot, they'll already be moved in, here. They'll be tracking me, and probably _you_ , too. We don't have a guaranteed channel of communication."

"Other than the new hideout," Eliot argued around a yawn, pushing himself into the room and pulling the door closed behind him. "Wish we had ear buds or something."

"You and me both. Preferably with Nate on the line. Hell, a phone call would be nice. At least figure out where he's at, you know?" Alec waited while Eliot finished undressing, watching for signs of further injury, but finding none. It was distraction that had him moving so slowly.

"I can get a call out," He hung his head, grinning, before crawling into bed.

Like Alec was going to feel like sleeping, now, or something.

" _What_?" He shot up. "This? _This_ would have been worth knowing, before."

"Yeah. The guard post at the border. They wanted me to re-up my enlistment when I came through. Thought Sophie's letter was a sealed order. I go out there, tell them I need to call my C.O., they'll probably hook me up. Soph said that there was a solid military presence at Nate's prison, so I can at least find out if he's still there. Maybe talk to him, see what he thinks."

"That's what I'm _talkin'_ about!" Alec clapped his hands together and fell back against the pillow, watching as the room went dark, edging to the side to make room for Eliot, his mind spinning out in five directions all at once. Once they were both settled, he asked, "Eliot, man. how many phones they got?"

"A few, probably. They wanted to give me a gun."

"Yeah, but that's not-"

"If I re-upped, they'd need a way to transmit orders. And from what I saw there, they were waiting for a bunch of other guys like me, so…"

Eliot trailed off as he shifted one too-bony shoulder into Alec's ribs, forcing him to move over, but Alec barely noticed, too busy feeling the nearly-forgotten sensation of his brain coming fully online. He wasn't anywhere near having a plan, yet, but he was close, and judging by the muted laughter, Eliot knew it too.

And judging by the kiss, he approved, whatever the plan was.

\---

Even now, it was still too early in the morning for any of this, but they'd loaded everything they owned into two hiking packs and a little red wagon all the same.

Parker had done some work here, already. There was a mattress on the floor, blankets folded neatly in the center, and there was a plastic basket full of soaps from what looked to be several hotels sitting by the door. True to her word, in the supply closet, he found the generator, and several gallons of fuel, as well as a neat row of packs of batteries. Three shelves had been cleared for a collection of books about animals, so their entertainment was covered. They were about as set as they could ever hope to be.

He didn't know what the five boxes of mismatched spoons were for, but they could have been sitting there when Parker found the place. Unlikely, but possible.

"Reminds me of a place I used to have in Chicago," Alec said, nodding his head back towards the stairwell. "Lived right by the stadium, and on moving day there was so much traffic, everyone going to see the Cubs get their asses handed to them by the Brewers, that I had to haul everything I owned three blocks. Couldn't find a parking spot."

Eliot laughed. "Ball games, man. Shit. I miss them. Football. Basketball. Hell. We missed the World Cup. Wanted to hit that this year." Eliot rummaged through the duffel bags until he could find the handful of kitchen utensils Alec had packed. "Don't even know where the final games happened."

"Does it matter?" Alec was shoving office supplies aside in one of the cabinets to make room for their groceries. 

In another bag, open, on the floor at Alec's feet, Eliot caught the dull glint of an M9 packed in between the socks and T-shirts.  

 _Not now, man.  Deal with it later._  "At this point? No. Long as it's not in Texas or something, anywhere would be better than here, right?"

"Yeah," Alec agreed.

"Next year, for sure. Hell, why wait, right? Should just go back to Brazil this winter, catch some street games."

"Weather should be nice," Alec said, but this time, there was something different in his tone as he closed the cupboard. Eliot hazarded a guess.

"So you're hell bent on staying out the winter?"

"Yeah. Got any better ideas?" Alec pushed the desk to the side of the room. It was clear he didn't want to be having this conversation, and it was beginning to piss Eliot off.

"Ah, _yeah_. Getting the hell _out_ of here." Because that, he realized just then, had been his entire point in coming. Find Hardison and Parker, get them somewhere safe, somewhere where they didn't have to fight to freakin' _survive_.

Hardison frowned, the empty bag hanging from his hand. "And go where? You know a place that's not all Mad-Maxed out right now?"

"The rest of the world, for one."

"Screw the rest of the world. Even when Cornelius is gone, we're still gonna have work to do here."

" _You_ do," Eliot said, knowing full well that he was steering the conversation through the roadblock and off the cliff. "Don't know what the hell _I'm_ supposed to be doing, here."

Alec's nostrils flared, but he remained silent for a long time. "Make it up as you go along, same as everyone," he shrugged, and turned back to the cabinets. Decision made, apparently, like that was the end of it, but he wasn't looking at Eliot anymore.

 _We could leave. Get out of here. We could do a hell of a lot better than we're doing,_ Eliot thought to Alec's retreating back. _It's not the whole world that's ended._ Alec was heading back down the stairs, but he wasn't going to leave.

If Eliot wanted to go, he'd be going it alone. "I'm heading down for the last load," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and giving the room another once-over. "Be right back."

\---

Eliot was just heading back to the landing, Alec knew that, but it didn't stop him from watching him disappear down the stairs like it was goodbye.

And he was _pissed_ , so much that he didn't even know _why_ until he heard Eliot's steps coming back up the stairs, and he didn't give him time to set the bag down before he started talking.

"You're tired. I get that, I'm tired too, and this place sucks. But we've got a job to do, too. You don't want that, you're free to bail, but I never saw you as the runnin' type, man."

In his anger, he'd forgotten how scary Eliot could be when he was annoyed. The amusement in his eyes at the prospect of fighting some hired thug was nowhere to be seen, now. There was no smirk, no " _come on_ ," just a set jaw and silence.  Alec knew when he was being sized up, but he had no idea what Eliot was about to do. If he made the slightest of moves, he'd probably get his ass handed to him in a cold hard fashion. _Deer, meet headlights._

But hell, _Eliot_ was the one that was wimping out. He was going to run, _again_ , leaving him holding the bag. He didn't get to play the bully, right now. Hardison wasn't going to allow him that satisfaction.

It didn't mean he enjoyed holding Eliot's glare while he waited for the reaction. Not in the least. Not for this freakin' _long_.

He'd known he wasn't going to like whatever it was that came next. He hadn't known how _much_ until it actually happened.

Eliot dropped his eyes first. "Yeah. You got a point," he said, and stooped down to let the heavy bag slide from his shoulder to the floor. Wincing as he rose, his eyes traveled up towards Alec's face, but stopped short of his eyes.

They were supposed to be shouting at each other by now, and Alec hadn't been ready for this. He didn't know where to go from there, and from the looks of it, Eliot wasn't, either. He just stood there, rolling his neck a little, either distracted or needing the distraction.

"Hey," Alec tried, smirking, but Eliot's glance said that he didn't get the joke. "Come on." He stepped past him and out into the hallway, back towards the office he'd seen. Some executive had probably done something important, here, once, but it was one of the lower backed chairs across the desk that Alec was interested in.

"Sit down," he said, earning a quizzical glance at last, but Eliot sat without question. His hackles weren't raised until Alec stepped behind him, wrapping his hands over his shoulders and squeezing tight.

Relaxing his grip once, then squeezing again, and Eliot seemed to catch on. He shifted in the chair, making himself comfortable, and finally, Hardison could get to work. He'd already found three knots, and he'd barely moved his hands, yet.

\----

Despite himself, Eliot followed Alec's orders, pulling his shirts off and dropping them in a heap on the floor next to him. He opened his mouth to speak, some part of him still remembering, evidently, that they still had things to talk about, but Alec's fingers were digging into the base of his neck and the _aching_ robbed him of his voice.

"Uh-huh," Alec muttered to himself, and his hands began to move. Whatever they'd been talking about wasn't something that couldn't be put off, anyhow. Not really. It'd keep for a while. The pain eased for a moment as Alec shifted, and it was easier not to think, anyhow.

 _Hoy hell_ the sudden pressure just below his collarbone was a bitch, but the drag of Alec's hands, moving down over his skin made up for it.

"I'm an idiot," Alec said, suddenly withdrawing his hands. "Let's get you lying down, alright?"

"Yeah," Eliot stood, reluctantly, and let himself be steered towards the mattress, wondering if he was going to fall asleep the moment he was off his feet. Hoping not.

 _Might not be too many more times like this_ , he reasoned, feeling Alec's fingers combing his hair to the side to get at his neck. _Take advantage while you can._

Alec worked down his arms, first, then over his back, covering everything but the worst of the bruises, pressing hard where he needed to, ghosting over when he didn't.

It was warm, lying on the too-soft mattress with Hardison straddling his legs. The windows could probably be opened at some point, but for now, it was comfortable, and getting better.

Another ten minutes falling under the rhythm of Alec's hands, and the windows were too far away to contemplate. Standing wasn't happening any time soon.

"You falling asleep?" There was too much humor in his tone for Alec's monotone to come through.

"No."

"You can, you know."

"Yeah," Eliot murmured, opening his eyes as the last of the knots were released, because any moment now, Alec was going to stop.

Eliot hadn't expected to miss it so much, miss _him_ so much, and it hadn't even happened, yet. But already Alec's touches were lightening, his weight was starting to shift back and away.

On the plus side, it gave Eliot the advantage and he pushed himself up to one side, reaching back to steady Alec and tugging him down to the mattress.

"Hey," Alec said, once the surprise had passed.

"Hey." Eliot said, temporarily exhausted by his efforts. Alec was a little too good at his job.

"Moving like that? You know you probably just undid-"

Eliot kissed him, then, mostly getting his bottom lip, but Alec caught on, quick- he was smart like that- and got with the program, too. Shifted a bit, rolled his shoulder and kissed him back, harder than before, at first, but after a few moments, he slowed.

 _What now?_

Eliot pulled back, barely, and he knew that he was scowling, but he didn't know what the fuck Alec's problem was. Alec's eyes weren't giving all that much away, they were taking everything in.

"Nothing," Alec said, nodding in satisfaction at whatever he'd found, and crushed back into him.

 _Least he didn't want to talk_ , Eliot decided, and caught at his mouth, biting, a little, in revenge, before trailing down Alec's throat.

\---

It wasn't like Alec believed in some magical power of make-up sex or anything, and really, he wasn't sure if that's what this _was_ , but he'd had to be sure. And he still didn't know if Eliot was going to stay, but he was here, now, with his hips lodged firmly against Alec's own, and pulling his collar aside to get at his collarbone.

It was Eliot who began the removal of most of their clothing, but without the knots holding his muscles together, his movements were lax, uncoordinated, and _both_ sets of hands kept taking eager detours towards hips, thighs, shoulders. Everywhere.

Alec was able to finagle himself halfway out of his jeans before the thought dawned, somewhat disappointingly, that Eliot probably hadn't brought lube, either, and he was going to point it out, but Eliot was taking him in hand and-

Hell, he didn't even _have_ to squeeze. The merest drag of fingertips over long-ignored flesh had Alec stuttering back against the mattress. A startled breath or two later, he relaxed into it, and began trying to get his hands where they'd be the most appreciated, because reciprocation was this _thing_ they'd had, back in the day, but there was no room to move. He couldn't reach.

Eliot knew it, too, sliding back down to nip at the side of Alec's chest, all the while watching him with this grin that was positively _wolfish_. He twisted his wrist, dragging his palm over the crown, and Alec had to clamp his jaw tight to stop himself from saying something about Little Red Riding Hood.

He'd never live it down, and Eliot was looking a little too smug already as he captured Alec's mouth again, lips pressing rough and perfect, wet and open and stealing his air until he didn't care any more. About _that_ at least.

Alec tried to twist his shoulder so that he could reach the hardness pressed into his thigh, but Eliot only shifted away again. Alec leaned back on his elbows, and was about to ask-

"In a bit. Need to see you. First." Eliot murmured, his eyes nearly shifting away, but not quite, and if Eliot could manage it, Alec could too, damn it.

 _But what the hell to you say to that?_

The strokes were steady, now, coming a little faster, and Alec felt himself twitching, canting his hips up, trying to get closer, trying for more friction that just wasn't there, because Eliot was pulling back again, shifting, sliding down, his eyes only moving away at the last second.

 _Fuck_ , Alec had just tasted that mouth and now it was tasting him, slow wet drag on the underside, tongue and lips and sliding fingers and if he didn't look away from what he could see through the sheaf of long hair that needed to be pushed aside, this was going to end too damned soon.

His breath caught in his chest and he gasped, but it hadn't been so long that Eliot had forgotten how to speak the language. He glanced up, tossing his hair back with his free hand.

And once he was sure of Alec's attention, he licked his lips, opened his smirking mouth and slid down, smooth, eyes intense and determined as he set a new rhythm. Alec couldn't have looked away even if he'd really wanted to, couldn't conceive of anything other than swirling warm damp, the accidental touch of teeth.

His hips jerked again, hard, his cock nudging a little too tightly against the back of Eliot's throat, and it was the sound Eliot made, that startled gagging moan, that shoved him towards the edge, even as he tried to pull away.

"Gonna-" he said, but Eliot was ahead of him, as usual, his mouth sliding off even as his hand increased it's pace.

His eyes were still burning through him, like he was the only thing in Eliot's world.

Alec crashed, _hard_.

\---

The aftershocks hadn't settled yet, and though he'd eased over to the side, Eliot was still pressed against him and still hard. Alec had to crane his neck to see his face, finding his eyes starting to drift away, more shy than bored, and _fuck_ Alec wanted to do everything in the world to him. Whatever he wanted.

Finally, Alec was able to get his arm free, finally able to reach, make contact. Eliot closed his eyes and he curled into the touch until his forehead pressed into Alec's arm, like Alec had known he would.

"What do you want?" he asked, fingers curling around to slide towards the base.

Eliot nodded against him, and Alec thought he could feel his lashes blink.

"This. Hands," he said, quiet like it was some sort of secret. "Hands are good."

"'Kay," Alec said, but the angle wasn't all that it could be. "Need to sit up, though." He pushed himself up against the wall, adjusting the pillows behind his back, and Eliot let himself be manhandled into position between Alec's knees, his back against Alec's chest.

Alec wrapped his arms around him, one hand meandering over the planes of his chest and stomach as the other slid along Eliot's cock, all the way down, fingers massaging small circles at his base before pulling up, gently, as slow as he could manage.

Eliot's head fell back against his shoulder and he growled, low and frustrated already. "Dammit, Hardison…"

Eliot couldn't see his face right then, so Alec let himself grin. Tapped some Morse code against his length until he could feel the tension coiling in Eliot's back.

And then, because he wasn't an idiot, he began again, keeping his strokes light while his other hand slid up Eliot's chest and neck and jaw until his fingertips were kissing the side of his mouth.

Eliot turned his head and kissed them back, wetting them as best he could.

Under his other hand, Eliot's cock was already becoming slick with pre-come, and the added wetness was enough for Alec to smooth him once, twice, before beginning a slowly increasing pace. Eliot breathed in time, for a while, until it was too fast to match and his inhalations were too erratic by then anyway.

He was getting close, and Alec stroked down the crease of his thigh, pulling his legs apart even more, and he meant to do more than brush his thumb along the underside of Eliot's balls, but it was too late, he was coming already, and Alec was too busy stroking him through it to remember to let go of his thigh.

\---

There were bruises, after, plain as day. Eliot didn't seem to mind. But he groaned, though, after waking Alec from a light doze with a grumbled " _shit._ "

Alec's eyes flew open. "What?"

"Phones," Eliot groaned.

"Right." Alec sat up, looked out the window as if he'd learned how to tell time from the sun. "You want me to come with you?"

"Nah," Eliot answered, stretching. "Should be able to move faster solo."

"Okay," Alec said, then hoped Eliot didn't catch his despondent tone.

Eliot just shook his head, though, and smiled, reaching out to stroke idly along Alec's back. "Sooner I'm gone, the sooner I'm back."

\---

Even with Alec's carefully scrawled map of Mica's mail route to the border, it had taken a good chunk of the afternoon for Eliot to get across town.

Eliot had been in a good mood- a _really_ good mood- when he'd started, but that had been hours ago, when he'd still been coming down, before the reality of, well, _reality_ had set in again.

Another fire had broken out, overnight, probably. He could smell it for blocks, even before seeing the still smoldering husk of the building.

It could have been worse, could have spread further, if the parking lot surrounding it hadn't been so big. Eliot racked his brain, trying to remember what had stood there, but he kept being distracted by the smell of burnt flesh.

He might have been imagining it, and anyway, he didn't have time to stop and inspect, not with so many unknown onlookers standing down the block, staring at the remains.

Cutting through the long-since-ransacked library, the smell of mold erased the previous stench, and he was relieved to reach the street on the other side.

There were people here, too. It never seemed like it, but there were _always_ people. They stuck to the walls as they walked, darted into alleys when he drew near. He found himself following suit, a little more than he wanted to.

Someone was sobbing on the second floor of the parking garage. He could still hear it a block and a half down. Nobody else stopped either.

Near the guard post, though, Eliot noticed that everyone was starting to stick to the open streets a little more. Maybe Cornelius' people were wary of waking that particular dragon just yet, or maybe they were planning on taking it later. There was no way to know.

He added it to the list of things he wanted to run by Hardison, tell him to keep his ears out once the trainees arrived at the post office, but up ahead at the corner of the block was the guard post, and two of them were already watching him approach.

\---

He gave his name and serial and told the captain manning the checkpoint office that there should be new orders waiting for him.

He half hoped that there would be, and that they'd be written in Sophie's hand, but really, there was no reason to believe he'd have that much luck.

Unfortunately, he was right. He'd have to do this from scratch.

"That's odd," he said, scratching his head, glancing at Captain Vasquez. "Okay, here it is. Last orders said I was supposed to report back to the CO up at Ray Brook. From what I know, it's a newer installation, but it has communications up and running."

"Do you have the orders?"

"Destroyed them," Eliot admitted, forcing an apologetic expression. "I mean, I'd been on the road for months, when I got here. Wasn't thinking too clear, and wasn't lookin' to get called back in, you know?"

Vasquez sighed, and Eliot was _in_. "More than you can ever imagine." He stood up, beckoning him to head towards the office in back, where among other things, a phone sat on the desk, next to a large binder, which he proceeded to flip through.

"Ah, okay, got it. Listed as an FCI installation. Yeah, there's a number." He picked up the phone and dialed before handing it over.

For a minute, it seemed like this was going to be easy. Then someone picked up.

Eliot spent the next hour and a half being routed and rerouted through different offices, and all he could find out, eventually, was that the inmate in question had been released on a commuted sentence.

It took another half hour to find out who was acting as proxy for the Governor of New York, since he'd been dead for months, and after that, another twenty to find out that the General back at Ray Brook was the one to organize it, in return for services rendered. Eliot didn't know what that meant, but it didn't matter. If Nate was out, then they'd be coming, soon. Maybe they were already on their way.

It took everything he remembered learning from Sophie to talk the General into giving him what he needed, but it was worth it, because the moment he handed over the phone, Vasquez merely listened and followed orders.

"Come with me, and we'll get you set," he said, heading towards a large steel cabinet.

Inside were guns. Lots of them, and some medical supplies. Most importantly, by the end of it, the cabinet was short three satellite phones- the one he was given and the two that he pinched while Vasquez was showing him how to turn the first one on.

It was dark by the time he was finally getting ready to head back. Before he left, though, Vasquez wanted to know if he needed any more ammunition.

Eliot glanced out the window. There was another fire somewhere, down to the south, turning that corner of sunset a brighter orange. It might not have been anything. Might have been everything someone'd had left. Boston was still fucked.

"Yeah," he said, thinking back to the gun he'd seen packed in with Alec's clothes. "M9. Whatever you can spare."  



	9. Chapter 9

  
There was a fire somewhere in the western part of town, he could see it from the bank's fire escape, but it wasn't the first one Alec had seen, and he had more pressing issues to deal with.

For one, power. He'd run back to the post office to retrieve some of the smaller solar panels. Not enough for heat, not enough to survive the winter, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it. Maybe see about moving into the school, if it came down to it. And hell, if Eliot wasn't around- _because let's face it, nothing's set in stone_ \- maybe he could hold out longer.

It was as depressing a thought as he could imagine.

Alec had learned how to not miss a lot of things. He didn't know how to miss thinking of his own survival in terms of _as long as somebody else isn't there_. Wanting to shoot him. Wanting to stay.

It was getting late, not dark yet, but close, and he had to stop thinking about it. He hadn't always been this superstitious.

He finished attaching the panel to the bracket and decided that he could work on getting it online later, and was turning to head back inside when he heard a gunshot, loud, rattling through the alleyway below.

 _Nothing at all_ , he told himself, having to look twice to confirm. _You're hearing things, man_.

He shut the door quietly behind him, intent on getting something on for dinner, wondering when Eliot was going to get back. Found himself wandering through the building, checking to make sure the four guns he'd hidden were where they were supposed to be.

They were right where he'd put them. Everything in its place. Situation normal, all fucked up.

\---

All that Alec really knew about Jay was that he was a soldier for the Kings, and that Parker seemed to be far less creeped out by him than she probably should have been. He was a big guy, all muscle, and his friendliness had an underlying _business first_ vein to it that was best left unexplored.

"Yo Hardison!" he shouted up at the building, waving when he saw Alec in the window. "We need to talk."

Hardison sighed. He was being called out. "Yeah, alright. Hang on."

Once upon a time, the Kings had been on a list, pulled from the BPD's gang activity tracking system and carefully monitored. And while they hadn't been at the _top_ of said list, hadn't quite joined the ranks of those cases that Hardison brought to Nate's attention for immediate action, they'd been slowly making their way up the charts.

A few days before the pulse hit, they'd made it to seven, literally, with a bullet.

Alec couldn't remember the details, any more. Something about a single mom, caught in the crossfire. It had made the news. A week later, there were too many shootings and too many bodies to cover, and no way to publish them.

The mom's kids- one was a toddler, Alec thought- were only set apart by their tragedy for a day or two at most. A few days later, most of the rest of the country joined them. But he doubted it helped, if they were even alive to care.

As Alec came down the back way and cut up through the alley, not wanting to show off the main entrance, he managed to put on a friendly face. Much as he didn't like it, the Kings were the ones keeping the blocks around the school clear. Never mind the fact that a year ago, the school had been struggling to keep clear _of_ them.

The moment he was out the front door, Jay was saying, "Parker told me about the move, said I could find you here."

"Figured as much, Alec nodded, scratching at his neck. "So what's up?"

"That's what I came to find out," Jay looked at him, hard now. His smirk had Alec wondering how many guns were trained on him from windows across the street. "Lot of folks been taken by surprise, hearing about the merger. So, man, no disrespect, but where you standin', these days?"

"Same place I've _been_ standing," Alec reasoned, hackles up, wishing for the hundredth time that there were phone records he could check, emails he could lift, or video footage he could scan. Jay not trusting him wasn't reason enough for him to trust Jay. For all his talk, and for all Alec knew, Jay could be working for Cornelius.

"Look, man," he continued, "they're stepping up their game. Had to happen some time. I play along, nobody gets hurt." No need to tell him about trying to monitor the information flow, trying to do recon on the sly.

Jay nodded, as if he'd expected that answer. "You sure you weren't looking to get adopted?"

 _Seriously? Of all the-_ "Yo man, if _you_ were gonna go buying your way in, would you wait for them to show up and point guns in your face, or would you go to them first? Believe me, if I'd wanted them all up in my business, I could've gone in with supply routes. Sentry locations. Storage facilities and backup sites. A detailed chart of who, exactly, they'd need to take _in_ , and who they'd need to take _out_ if they wanted to control the entire damned neighborhood."

Jay raised his hands, glancing sideways down the street, but Alec was on a roll. "And you and I both know that if I'd made that deal with them, I'd be sitting a lot prettier by now, and you and your crew would probably be under siege. Yet they were able to spare you to come hassle me, which says to me that either you're useless in a fight, or there's not anything going down."

His argument, finally completed, didn't have the effect he'd been hoping for, as Jay rolled his neck, probably signaling the others. He smiled, though, his voice easy, when he said, "You got a mouth on you, for a _mailman_."

Alec tried, he really did, but he couldn't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes. "That's good, comin' from an errand boy. Now check it. Ain't gonna lie to you. Only reason I'm standing here in the middle of the street explaining myself is because Parker vouched for you. She gets word that you're being a nuisance, though, what do you think will happen to that nice little retainer she's payin' y'all for services rendered? It's not like there aren't other hungry people willing to take the job."

"That depends on what she hears, don't it? For all she knows, you were dead when we _got_ here."

Alec shifted, slightly. The gun was in his waistband, just in case. Unless there were some clean shooters running with Jay, he'd be able to do some damage of his own.

"Suppose that depends on who's doin' the telling." At that, Jay glanced up towards the bank's windows, searching, and just about to realize Alec's bluff. He had to get Jay's attention back on him, so he stepped forward, further into Jay's space.

"What? You think I come out here to chat with a known banger without backup of my own?" Alec forced himself to smirk as he dropped his voice threateningly. "This is gonna go down one of two ways. You shoot me, I shoot whoever I can, and in a few hours, Parker's going to find out. She's going to have words with your boss, and you know damned well you don't have the rank to be calling plays. Or, you can walk away right now, report back that everything's under control, and get a pat on the head for doin' your job."

Alec stared Jay down, waiting. "So what's it gonna be?"

\---

Eliot took the back stairs two at a time, surprised to find so many open doors between their place and the street. Through one of the windows, he could hear voices outside.

Alec was arguing with some guy, and from the looks of it, it had been going on for some times. He backed into the shadows and scanned the street and the buildings across the way.

He saw three men with guns, and really, he wasn't thrilled about it. He was even _less_ thrilled when he heard the cocky tone Alec was using.

 _So what's it gonna be?_ Eliot repeated Alec's words in his head. _Yeah. Let's play a game of annoy the gang bangers._

The alley had been clear when he'd arrived, but there was no way to get across the street in any quick fashion without being seen. There was no way of knowing who these guys were, or if they'd shoot him on sight, or worse, spook, and shoot everywhere, blind.

Glancing out again, though, he could see the other man shaking his head and stepping back with palms raised. "Yo, man. We're cool. Just following orders, you know?"

"All right then," Alec said, his stance becoming less rigid. "You tell your boss everything's cool, and it goes no further than this, you feel me?"

The guy nodded, turning towards the building across the street and jerking his head. Alec, already, was heading for the alley, and a few moments later, Eliot could hear his tread on the stairs, and he went to meet him by the office door.

"What the hell was that about?" Eliot asked, crossing his arms.

Alec started, stopping short and blinking. "Nothing. Just a little misunderstanding, is all. When'd you get back?"

"Early enough to see what looked like you threatening a gang banger with no backup."

"Yeah, well. You were here. I had backup," he muttered tiredly, pushing past him and heading towards the office's kitchenette.

"Damned good thing, too. I saw you all puffed up down there. Could've gone eight kinds of wrong."

"Dude, you know what?" Alec's head whipped up to glare at him. "You don't need to go round talking like they're Russians, or something. I've dealt with them before, it's cool."

"Yeah, it really looked like it," Eliot muttered, ready to drop the subject, but Alec, apparently, wasn't.

"Seriously? You too? Everyone's a critic, man."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Alec didn't answer, just rolled his eyes and turned, heading back up the next flight of stairs. Eliot was too busy flipping the entire conversation over in his head to follow.

\---

Alec lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm himself the hell down. He hadn't really meant to get aggro on Eliot, but he was tired of all this. Spending all his time trying to keep the wheels from falling off, only to be questioned at every point and turn by people who didn't know what they were talking about.

Who hadn't fucking been there.

He'd been there for about half an hour, staring up at the thin streaks of darkening sky through the drawn blinds, when there was a rapping on the doorframe. Turning his head to look at Eliot, standing there, he noted the pack still slung over his shoulder, and wondered if he'd been packing to leave, if Alec had blown everything and this was going to be goodbye.

"Hey," Eliot said. "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure," Alec sat up. "Sorry, you know. About earlier."

"No need, it's cool." Eliot nodded to himself and sighed, dropping the pack from his shoulder. He didn't look like he was about to bolt. "Anyhow, I got us some phones."

"Seriously?" Alec grinned, all irritation forgotten as he watched Eliot drag them out, one by one, and set them on the desk. "Give 'em here."

Eliot did as he was told, remaining silent as Alec checked them out. Once upon a time, they wouldn't have been anything special to look at. Just another phone on a different network. Not half as nice as Alec's backup backup _backup_ phone.

Now, though, when Alec pressed the button, something amazing happened. It actually turned _on_ , lights swirling as the system booted. They still needed to be checked out, he had to go in and pull the GPS out, make sure they were clean, but they _worked_.

He really wished he had someone to call. Which reminded him.

"You track down Sophie and Nate?"

"Nate was released, and apparently they're heading this way, far as I've been told. No idea when they're gonna show."

"Damn it anyway," Alec said, his eyes sliding back to the glowing blue screen as the phone scanned for a signal.

A few seconds later, it found one. _Aww yeah, baby_.

When he glanced up again he was aware that he was grinning like an idiot, but a little surprised to find Eliot staring back at him with a worried expression on his face. "Eliot, man. What's up?"

"Ah. Nothing. Just. Got you something else," he went back into the bag, and extracted three clips of ammo, nodding at Alec as he held them out. "Courtesy of the National Guard. Wasn't sure if you were running low or anything. Got some more medical supplies and stuff in here, too."

"Great," Alec nodded, reaching out for the clips, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with them. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how many rounds he had left in the gun he was wearing, and it was a little unsettling. He remained silent, though. Eliot probably liked hearing about how idiotic Alec was with guns about half as much as he liked them in the first place.

He could feel Eliot's eyes burning into him, and set the loot down, forcing himself to not fidget with the phones. More than anything, he wanted to pretend that the weight of the gun stuck in his waistband was only in his head. He had to change the subject.

"You eat anything, man?"

"No. you?"

"Was waitin' on you," Alec decided, standing up and heading for the door, knocking gently against Eliot as he passed, mostly by accident. "You want to do the instant Spanish rice stuff or the instant alfredo stuff?"

"Neither," he heard Eliot muttering as he followed him towards the kitchenette.

"Hey man, consider yourself lucky. I could be tryin' to make it from scratch."

"Good point," Eliot agreed, a little too quickly, but when Alec turned to grumble back at him, he was grinning. Not as wide as he'd even seen, but it was better than nothing.

It was as good a time to kiss the jerk as any, so Alec did.

\---

Mica hadn't been surprised to hear about the post office coming under new management. Word, it seems, still managed to spread, even without email. Jay's doing, Eliot figured, but who knew, really?

"It's all good, Mica had shrugged in distaste. "Long as I still get paid."

He was adaptable, if not exactly amenable, and it hadn't hurt that while Alec hadn't come up with a plan, yet, he'd had the foresight to expect that they'd need one, soon.

"You think we need a leapfrog route around them?" Alec asked no one in particular, not even glancing up from the map he'd pulled out.

Eliot exchanged a curious glance with Mica, who asked, "Alec, man. What do you mean?"

"They're going to be coming in here to intercept the mail deliveries, right? They're going to set up a regular route. We'll know where they are, so in the event that we decide we need to get out there, we can figure out where _not_ to go."

"I already know how to avoid them," Mica frowned.

"Doesn't mean we're not going to need to change the play, comin' up. Getting around them, not getting _away_ from them."

"Why?"

"If they weren't waiting for something specific, it's not likely they'd be sending out people to monitor things on this end. Cornelius has to know that we're going to be curious, and his crew is probably prepared to deal with any grab that we could probably make on this end. Which means we're going to need to figure a way out onto the ships, or catch them en route."

"I don't get it," Eliot interjected. "Why didn't you set this up before?"

"More risk than benefit," Alec smirked. "And there wasn't anything we needed from them." He stood up straight, stretched his back. "And my spidey-sense is telling me that's about to change."

Which was why after a short side trip to convince Mica's cousin to take over the mail route for the day, Eliot was cutting through an upended department store, trying not to look too hard at the stripped remains of mannequins scattered throughout the debris. Only the flimsiest of clothing lay in tatters on the floor. Party dresses and tuxedos and uncomfortable looking shoes.

Mica was up ahead, signaling him to slow down as he peered cautiously out the window to the street. "Looks like the avenue's clear," he confirmed, turning back to Eliot. "Thing is, I head east here, specifically to get _around_ them. It's not a direct route. Once I'm out the door, anyone up on the corner can see me. They haven't messed with me yet, but they know."

"If that's their zone, is there any reason they'd change their path?"

"Not that I can think of," Mica said. "But who the hell knows."

"Alright," Eliot scratched at his brow. They were starting to narrow it down. They needed routes that they had control over, that Cornelius couldn't catch. Some random turn that looked inconsequential and pointless, something to gain them the ground they needed. If and _when_ they needed it.

They took the eastern route, then spun out an extra three blocks in the wrong direction, until they reached Dorchester Street, where Mica stopped. Eliot sighed at the apologetic grimace when he realized where they were. Mica was pulling the crowbar out of his bag, and using it to pull up the manhole cover.

They were going into the sewers. _Awesome_.

"They know about this, too?" Eliot asked, following him down the ladder.

"Doubt it, but we won't know until we come up on Dry Dock Avenue. I was coming through here for a week or so, about two months back cause a bunch of crazy fundies had moved in, down by the church."

"What branch?"

"Rapture freaks," Mica confirmed, turning on his flashlight to illuminate fetid water and moldering walls. "Creepy as hell. There any other kind?"

Eliot shrugged. "Depends. They got any snakes?"

"What?" Mica snorted, and Eliot could tell he was smirking, even if he couldn't see his face. "No. Why would- what're you on about?"

"Never mind." Eliot reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his flashlight. It didn't help, much, too weak to do more than cast a dim glow at his feet. "Let's go."

\---

 _His uncle had told him about the snake handlers that lived out in the hills behind the mines, but Eliot had never seen any until after the end of everything, when the snakes had come out of the grass, and their handlers came with them._

The first time he saw them, he was crossing through Virginia, and had heard a woman wailing over the hill and gone to investigate.

A few yards off the trail, down in the gulch, were about thirty people standing in a circle, each as raggedy-looking as the next, surrounding two figures in the center.

A woman knelt chanting in the dirt, holding up a snake, which swayed and whipped slowly around her wrist. Her other hand was scrabbling distractedly at the hair of the young girl lying in the dirt next to her.

The girl's eyes were scrunched shut. She had a white-knuckled grip on a wound on her other arm, and from his spot behind the trees, Eliot could hear her crying, and wondered if the woman was her mother, or just another stranger from the road. It didn't matter. Whoever the woman was, she was a million miles away, speaking in tongues, staring at the sky.

More accurately, the woman was shouting, but it didn't matter. Even if anyone had understood her, it wasn't like they had anyone to call. No dispatcher on the line telling them to stay calm, that help was on the way.

Nobody else was coming near the girl, either. Eliot didn't even think the woman knew she was there, really. Not entirely. The people that weren't praying or talking nonsense or whatever it was they were doing just stared at the two of them. The only movement was at the outer edge of the circle, where a man was reaching into a box.

But he wasn't grabbing a snakebite kit, or rummaging for first aid supplies. He was grabbing a snake of his own, and his chanting was growing louder.

None of them noticed Eliot watching, so they didn't notice him leaving, either, back the way he came.

\---

There were no snakes in the sewer, no alligators, either. Not much of anyone, except for one toothless old man with wild yellow eyes, who would probably have run if he hadn't been in the middle of what smelled like a slow lingering death. He was too weak to move, too weak to do much besides growl out a warning for them to leave.

This close to the harbor, the stench was beginning to grow. Dead fish and moldering seaweed, along with the rodents and shit and washed-down street-rot.

Finally, Mica checked his map and pointed towards a dead end, shooting off the main tunnel. There was a steel grid stairwell and a door set about thirty feet up the wall.

The fact that they weren't going to have to deal with another manhole cover was only scant relief, but doors were easier for everyone, Cornelius included.

After picking the lock, Eliot forced himself to open the door slowly, before carefully peering around the room on the other side. Behind the racks full of dead computer equipment, there was nothing but cinderblock. Another heavy steel door across the room had dim light coming from a slight gap in the bottom of the frame. Outside, he could hear the ocean.

There was a plastic coffee mug, paint long since chipped off the steel, sitting on the small desk, next to a stack of dusty folders going to bold.

"Alright, we're right where we should be," Mica said, flipping through the papers. "State owns this building."

Eliot turned his attention back to the equipment. There were computers, yeah, but interspersed throughout, and stuck into the wall were analog readers attached to pipes that ran along the wall behind him.

As far as he could tell, it was meant to monitor the storm drains, maybe open or close floodgates somewhere. Boston hadn't sunk into the ocean, yet, so it was probably best not to touch anything.

"Let me see," Eliot said once Mica unfolded the map he'd brought.

"Unless I'm wrong, we should be coming up about here. Haven't been here in months, though. No clue what's on the other side of the door."

For all Eliot knew, they could be stepping out into an empty parking lot, or there could be half a dozen of Cornelius' best and brightest having a poetry reading and drinking tea.

He considered the door suspiciously. A year ago, he would've had Hardison on the line, already pulling up satellite photos and any surface surveillance to be had.

Four years ago, though, this had been his life. Not knowing what it was that he had to be ready to fight, waiting on the other side of the door.

And the ten years before that, too.

It was more tiring, now, than it used to be.

The sooner they saw that the path was clear, the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could get back. Hang out with Alec for a bit before they had to go to the post office, if there was time.

"You ready?"

Mica nodded, shoving the map back into his pack. "Came all this way, didn't we?"

\---

They stepped out into the blinding sunlight, but then right into shadow again, even before Eliot's eyes managed to adjust. He looked around, carefully, before taking his first breath of clean air.

They'd entered into a very narrow parking lot, with room enough for two trucks, nothing more. One of them still sat there, a large white pickup with city plates and windblown garbage wrapped around the tires. A large brick wall surrounded them on either side, but the driveway was clear out to the road.

So had cover enough, for the most part, and had a straight view of the harbor. Eliot waved Mica closer to the wall, and motioned for him to remain silent as they made their way forward.

All he needed to do was get a read on the situation in the Harbor, decide if they needed to find another way in, and they could go home.

Directly northeast of their position, about fifty yards, was a small pile of dead bodies lying on the concrete. Five or seven, it was hard to tell. Beyond that were old shipping containers, plenty of cover if they needed it, and beyond that, a barge and two ships sat dead in the water, a little ways out, and a smaller boat was just pulling up to one of the docks, _much_ too close for comfort.

Eliot dodged back around the corner, hissing as he bumped into Mica, before carefully edging forward again, trying to listen, thinking, _Well, I guess the route's solid_. Over the sound of the waves, he wasn't really expecting to hear much of anything.

He _really_ wasn't expecting to hear Parker's voice, loud and annoyed, and coming from _way_ too close.

"Get your hands- knock it off, I'm _going_ , alright? Would _someone_ please tell me what the _hell's_ going on?"

Mica had heard as well, and was already ducking back behind the truck for cover. Eliot wasn't sure how he made it, but he followed, landing a little too hard and gritting his teeth against the feel of gravel digging into his elbow. _Doesn't matter_.

He considered the odds. Four sets of boots surrounded Parker's sneakers as they passed on the other side of the gate, and a man's voice said, "I already told you. Cornelius says someone wants to talk to you."

Another moment, and they were gone. If Parker said anything more, Eliot couldn't hear. He counted to ten before breaking cover, and when he peered out again, he could see the guns trained on her.

And then he stood there like an idiot and watched them load her onto the boat.

 _Fuck_.  



	10. Chapter 10

"…okay, and last. Any mail destined for overseas travel _must_ be batched separately, but sent to New York. From there it can bounce through whatever foreign ports it needs to bounce through in a _lot_ less time than it would take to make it halfway to Oregon Got that?"

Alec turned from the papers he'd tacked to the wall and addressed the room, marker in hand. This felt more familiar than he'd thought it would, but essentially, he was just there to present information to a bunch of people who needed to know it. Even if those people were armed, and glaring at him even more than Nate had done on his most hungover of mornings.

He wondered, for a minute, if bogging them down with every last detail was really the best way to play this. He'd been playing on the angle that they didn't know that he _did_ , in fact, know how to summarize information, a hell of a lot more succinctly than he'd been doing.

All the same, and deliberate information overload aside, he knew better than to push too hard on a room full of armed thugs, so it was with great relief that he observed Mica arriving with the day's delivery.

Up until he realized that Mica's _cousin_ , Fiona, was supposed to be making the delivery. Mica was supposed to be with Eliot, and Eliot-

Something was wrong.

"Hey Hardison," Mica called out, walking in like he owned the place and setting the two ridiculously, hell, _comically_ full mailbags up on the counter. "These the new trainees? Got some work for them."

Alec considered the pile, then glanced back at the trainees, who looked more like bored tech-school students than they did evil henchmen who could blow his brains out if they sensed there was something wrong.

"I don't know," he said, turning back to the class, searching out their glazed eyes. "Okay. This is a lot, and I mean, a _lot_ of stuff we got in. The two of us have been doing this for a while; we've got the system down. I'm not sayin' you all aren't competent, I'm just saying it might be better to get y'all started on it with the next delivery."

A quick scan of the class told him that while for the most part, they were relieved at the prospect of bailing, one of the guys, Johnson, who was either higher up in the chain than the others, or just nastier, was looking a little suspicious, too.

Alec had pressed his luck. But there was room, still, for a little bit more.

"Here's the deal. I know Cornelius assigned you here to keep an eye out for something specific. If you want, you can go through all this, see if it's in there, and Mica and I can handle it from there. That way, nobody has to worry about pissing off the boss man."

Alec wasn't surprised to see all the heads turn towards Johnson to see what he thought. It wasn't hurting that Jamilla, the cute girl with the braided hair, was smiling at him, obviously hoping for a reprieve. For a low ranking evil henchman- _woman_ , Jamilla was being more helpful than she'd ever know.

"As far as I've been told, we're just here laying the groundwork," Johnson said, after a moment, obviously pandering, while puffing himself up just a bit. "And some of us have _things_ we need to get done." Alec suspected he didn't want to know what those _things_ were.

"All right." He put the cap back on the marker. "Next shipment is day after tomorrow. I'll get you started on sorting the outgoing, and the day after that, I'll have you sort inbound. Bring your notes." With that, the motley class stood, stretching, retrieving guns and notebooks as they wandered out towards the door.

Alec waited superstitiously for the trainees to gain some distance before speaking.

"What's going on?"

Mica pulled a face. "Bad news, I really think Eliot should explain. He's out front making sure they've cleared the street, 'fore he comes in. We intercepted my cousin a few blocks out, grabbed the delivery. Sent me in here to get a read on the situation in here, told me to signal if it was looking like they weren't leaving."

"Right." Alec tried to remain patient. In a few minutes, he'd know. He forced his attention to the mailbags. "What did you stuff them with?"

"Pretty much any clean garbage we could find on the way," Mica said, reaching in to pull a thin layer of envelopes from the top of the bag. He began distractedly sorting them into piles, out of habit or nervousness, Alec couldn't tell.

Mica made himself scarce, over by the sorting bins, and it was three minutes before the door opened, and Eliot strode in, eyes wild and angry.

"Cornelius has Parker," was all he said.

\---

 _"So they're clearing a route out to the shipping yards?" Parker asked, hopping on their feet, pouting. "Sounds fun."_

"Yeah, well," Alec looked back to what he was doing, disconnecting the GPS sensor from the third phone. "If you'd been around, earlier, you could be out there, but there's something else we're gonna need your help on at some point."

"What's that?"

Alec fiddled with getting the board back into the phone for a minute, until it looked like he'd reconnected everything correctly. He reached blindly for the screwdriver, not finding it until Parker, who'd probably pocketed it, handed it over with a smirk. "They've got sentries and searchlights. Only way anyone's gonna make it out there is underwater. I've got an oxygen tank, but it's empty. I need an air compressor. That the sort of thing you've got lying around?"

"Yeah," Parker offered, unsurprisingly. If Alec had asked for eighteen bottle openers, a pair of fuzzy slippers, and a blowtorch, she would've asked him what color slippers he preferred. "The storage unit behind that café that Sophie liked going to. There's only one problem. I don't have any fuel to power the generator to power the _compressor_."

"I've got some I can bring out," Alec muttered, screwing the phone's casing back into place. "Okay," he said, turning the phone on. It took a few moments to program the numbers and set the caller IDs, but then, he was handing Parker her phone, and had to admit that finally, they were in business.

\---

"Okay, man, what happened?" Alec asked, leading Eliot to the far corner of the room.

"We made it out to the docks a few hours ago, and we managed to get straight line of sight on the ships. Heard them coming, found cover, saw her being marched forward at gunpoint. Tried to think of something to do, but their route was in the open, there was no way to gain on their position before they could get a shot off."

"How did she look?"

Eliot paused to consider. "Honestly? Annoyed, more than anything. It's _Parker_."

"Did it look like they'd searched her?"

"They probably would have. Why?"

"Got her hooked up a few hours ago," Alec pulled out his own phone, noting regretfully that there were no missed calls.

 _Shit._

"Hey," Eliot said, shaking his head. "Look. Even if they manage to get her phone, she'll get it back, right?" There was no way Eliot could know that, but at least he was trying. "In the meantime, I need to head over to the school, make sure they're-"

 _Seriously? No. Unacceptable._

" _Damn_ the school, and what the hell is _with_ you, anyway? You don't want to stay, then you do. Parker, our _very good friend_ gets nabbed and you want to-"

"It's _tactics_ , Hardison." Eliot's narrowed eyes darted towards the window. "The sun's not going to set for another hour or so, and it's going to be a while before it's dark enough that we can even _attempt_ to get to the water, much less through it."

He had a point, but he seemed to be waiting for Alec to think it through himself before continuing. "In the meantime, think. Everything he's pulled so far, _why_ is Cornelius interested in Parker?"

"I don't know," Alec growled, too irritated to think.

"You do. She's the leader of the last sizeable chunk of resistance. And unless they've got double agents in there, they need information more than they need her dead. They're going to spend a lot of time _talking_. And probably keeping her in holding, but. You know."

"It's Parker," Alec agreed, abashedly, not quite meeting Eliot's eyes. "So my entire rant, there. Just now. I suppose it was a little, ah. Overboard."

"Don't worry about it," Eliot said, glancing back out at the street, only a little more relaxed than he'd been.

 _Fair enough_ , Alec decided. "Okay. How about this. You go out there, make sure everything's cool. I'll go grab my scuba gear- I have to fill the tank, it's going to take a while, but I can be ready to go-"

Eliot's head spun back to glare at him. " _You're_ not doing it."

"One. I know what I'm doing," Alec held up one finger, then another. "Two. You hate the ocean."

"You try hang out on a raft in the middle of the Pacific for three weeks and see how _you_ do," Eliot grumbled, rolling his eyes. "And that's all well and good, but there is _serious_ security out there, and it's not infrared and key cards. Guys with guns are _my_ gig, not yours."

 _You sure about that?_ , Alec was about to interrupt, but Eliot kept talking, clearly at the edge of his patience. "Okay. Here's the plan, and no, it's not up for debate. I'll go check on the school, and you'll get the gear out to the shipyard. I'll come meet you soon as I can, and in the meantime, you _wait_. Got that?"

"Yeah, but I don't know the route," Alec pointed out warily, not wanting to scrap the first vague plan on offer.

"I do," Mica offered, reluctantly, shoving a handful of envelopes into one of the sorting bins. "I could run you through it. I mean, if y'all think you could use the help."

"Awesome," Eliot declared, before Alec had a chance to complain. "It's settled. I'm out." He waited, though, when Alec held up a hand, using the other to fish in his pockets.

"I'm guessing you still know how to use one of these." He produced the phone he'd been keeping, accidentally un-pocketing his multi tool as well. The latter went into his back pocket, and the former into Eliot's hand.  "So keep me in the loop, you hear?"

It didn't occur to Alec to ask him if he wanted a gun, but it did worry him that he'd thought to.

\---

Eliot wasn't surprised to hear gunfire, but it wasn't until he'd cleared four blocks that he was able to see smoke rising up from the direction of the school.

He swallowed thickly, fighting to keep the nausea at bay. Buildings, when they burned, didn't smell like other fires, and they sounded a hell of a lot worse, too. He'd cleared another block when he began hearing the shouting. Halfway down the next, shots cracked through the din.

He started to run.

Two more blocks, and he could see the people trying to escape, and the people chasing after them. They were easy to dodge, though. It wasn't the first war zone he'd run into.

\---

Total fucking chaos. Smoke and crying and grappling on the pavement. Down on the corner, a man was prying loose metal from a bike rack, trying to arm himself while two friends did their best to cover him, their guns scanning, searching for a target in the fray.

Someone had a bullhorn, telling everyone to calm down. To gather on the northeastern corner of the schoolyard, and that no harm would come to them if they would stop resisting.

Nobody seemed to believe it, and Eliot couldn't blame them.

Truth be told, he wasn't sure who it was he attacked first, which side they were on, but they had a gun, and the teenager they'd cornered didn't.

 _One down,_ he noted, but there was no sense trying to keep track when it had already gotten this far. No clear winner would be decided, not when there were women pressing children into the dirt of the playground so they'd make smaller targets.

There was no clear path to escape, and from the shrieking screams, it sounded like that even the children _knew_ it. The closest thing they had to any protection whatsoever was a loose wall of Kings that shot at anything that pointed a gun their way.

A brick bounced off his shin, momentarily distracting him, as did the man who'd thrown it. By the time Eliot had dropped him, over in the playground another man was going down with his finger on the trigger, sending five wild shots out as he fell, causing an explosion of glass in the window above Eliot's head. He was still dodging the falling shards when a woman's voice screamed out louder than the rest.

Ten feet away, next to an overflowing and overturned trash can, two men were crouched, trying to grab at the flailing arms of the pregnant woman lying on the ground. It was Lisa, from the school. One, who was quickly jerked back and thrown sprawling to the ground, was the gangbanger Alec had argued with the day before.

The other one was Nate.

\---

"What the _hell_?"

Nate's surprise cut quickly to a pained grimace. With the grip Lisa had, the bones of his hand were probably grinding together.

"In a minute," he said, waving Jay back over and nodding towards Eliot, calling "Jay, Eliot. Eliot, Jay. That was a misunderstanding and you're on the same side." Jay's eyes cut sharply towards Eliot before he nodded, and Eliot followed suit. "Jay. You see them coming yet?"

Eliot cast a glance in the direction they were looking, finding two people crouching as they ran out of the school's gymnasium towards them, carrying what looked to be a field stretcher between them.

Tensing his muscles for movement, preparing to move, he surveyed their trajectory and found that their path, at least, was clear for the time being. Once they had the stretcher ready, he and Nate helped her get positioned.

Jay wasn't much help, his hand clasped in Lisa's grip. "You're okay, ma'am. We're getting you out of here."

"You know where you need to go?" Nate asked, and Jay nodded towards the alley. Another few seconds and it was only Nate and Eliot in the middle of the warzone.

"So how you been?"

"Fine. You?"

"Never better. Good to see you, by the way. Hardison okay?"

"He's fine, getting the gear to bust Parker out. Cornelius has her out on one of the ships -" A sudden spray of gunfire rattled the ground, dangerously close to where they'd been standing.

"Then she's safer than anyone here," Nate nodded, peering around the corner. "So I'm changing the play. You see if there's a path out of the playground yet?"

Eliot scanned the playground. With the kids all lying down trying to dodge the bullets, he couldn't tell if any of them had been hit. "Doesn't matter. I was just about to make one."

"Okay. As of ten minutes ago, we've got a safe zone on the top level of that parking garage. Give me your phone, I'll meet you over there."

Eliot fished it out of his pocket and handed it over, before taking off towards the street on the western edge of the playground. It wasn't until he'd disarmed the second gunman that it occurred to him to wonder how Nate had known to ask him for it.

\---

Alec and Mica hurried to throw all the supplies they thought might come in handy for the trek. Flashlights, ropes and a first aid kit. Knives and ammunition and even more bandages.

"There's another gun in the drawer below the markers," Alec offered when he noticed Mica checking his clip. "I've got two extra in the bag."

"We do this right, we won't even need 'em," Mica assured him, but he opened the drawer anyway. One minute later they were out the door.

\---

It was strange, to walking down the street with a scuba tank slung over his shoulder, but it was the gun in his hand that he couldn't ignore.

He didn't have both hands free, and it was making him nervous. _More_ nervous. He could see why Eliot didn't like guns, preferred to go without. They had a way to keep you focused on one option only. Oversimplified things to a dangerous extent. Nothing about them offered safety, but then again, _nothing_ about tonight was proving to be peaceful.

The sun had gone down, but there were more people on the streets than Alec had seen since the crash. Some people stalked hurriedly, guns at the ready, heading towards the school. Others rushed in the opposite direction. Dozens more milled about, confused. Wanting to know what was going on and too wary of the passerby to ask them.

Any other night they would have missed it, but about two blocks from the old apartment, they had a clear view of the schoolyard, over the top of a ruined building. It had burned down months ago, but with the red and orange glare coming from behind it, Alec had to look twice to understand what he was seeing.

The school was on fire and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Eliot was out there, doing what he could. It would have to be enough, for now.

They moved onwards, but Mica's attention had been left behind somewhere. Alec glanced over at Mica, caught the stiff set of his shoulders. Over the next few blocks, it began to get worse. _Like there isn't enough tension in the air already._

It felt like a thunderstorm was coming, but it didn't look like rain.

\---

It was probably the ten minutes of standing around doing nothing, but Mica was losing his nerve, Alec was sure of it now.

"You okay?" he shouted over the noise of the generator, watching the gauge as the tank filled.

"My Cousin. Fiona's out there." His eyes were thirty blocks past the front door, and even before he turned back to Alec, he knew what his next words would be. "Look, man. The entrance you want is right on Dorchester Street, and tunnel's a straight shot east, all the way out until the smell's so bad you want to die. Keep your eye out for a dead end on the left with a door built into it. That's where you want to be."

"Cool," Alec shouted, not asking what Mica had planned, or if he even _had_ a plan. As good as Mica's intentions were, Parker wasn't his fight.

Mica was gone before the tank was full, but Alec already had everything he needed, and finally, he shut off the compressor, and then the generator, and in the sudden silence, the air still seemed to be vibrating around him.

It took him a few seconds to realize it was only the phone in his pocket, flashing Eliot's name.

He coughed as he answered. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Ah, you know. The usual," a strange voice answered.

"Nate?"

"Yeah, it's me. Good to hear your voice, but right now, you've got to listen. Eliot's filled me in and loaned me his phone while he's taking care of a few things. Now look. We're changing the play. Here's what I need you to do…"

\---

If the second guy hadn't fallen into his side as he was going down, Eliot wouldn't have been trying to brush quite so much gravel and broken glass from the side of his hand. It stung like anything. He stopped the inventory there, though. Everything else, he could deal with _later_. Right now, he had to get the kids moving before anyone had a chance to focus on them again.

He swerved past the swing set and skidded to a halt when he reached them. Seventeen kids and three adults, and all of them were looking up at him, terrified.

But at least they were looking. "Are any of you hurt? We're getting you out of here, going someplace safe, okay?" With the enemy's numbers reduced, half a dozen Kings were freed up to help move them out.

It was a ten-year-old boy who stood up first, and the others were quick to follow. Avoiding the east side of the block, with the Kings corralling them on either side, they made it across the street. Others were waiting there, parents and strangers watching with anxious eyes, and they joined the throng as it passed.

 _You could've jumped in, any time_.

Eliot knew he was being uncharitable, but the cracked rib was making him cranky. He had to get moving before the exhaustion caught up. And they _all_ needed to get moving before Cornelius' crew had a chance to get their acts together. Already, he could see some of them scrambling over the ground, picking up the ammunition Eliot had spilled whenever he could.

"Let's keep it going, people!"

\---

Eliot was so focused on keeping the group moving that it took him a while to register that the gunfire stopped. Or rather, it had moved, now blocks away, northeast, probably, out towards the shipyards.

More pressing was guiding the ever-growing group towards the paring garage, where they were met with bright strobe lights and a wall of self-appointed security guards.

The sight was startling enough that it took a moment to get moving again, and once Eliot's eyes had adjusted to the glare, he found Nate pacing by the entrance, shouting at someone to get back down with a stretcher and glancing nervously down at his phone.

"Nate, man, what the hell is going on?" Eliot asked, but Nate was waving him off with the one hand that wasn't raising the phone to his ear.

"Ah-hah? Great. Sit tight. We've got him here. I'll check back in fifteen." Thumbing the phone off, he grabbed Eliot and hugged him, nearly pulling him off what was starting to feel like the last of his balance.

"It worked," his grin flashed wide before an approaching stretcher distracted him again. "Get him up top," he called over to the two bearers, and both watched as they passed by, carrying an elderly woman between them.

" _What_ worked?" Eliot asked, trying to get a grip on the irritation.

"That was the all clear. Right now, Cornelius' operation is undergoing the beginnings of a civil war. More importantly, the fighting's moving over towards the shipyards, where it belongs."

"You _serious_ , man?" Eliot yanked the hair out of his face. " _Parker's_ out there, Nate. Hardison too, and-"

Nate was shaking his head. "Hardison is on his way over _here_ , said he was filling an air tank for a plan that sounded so idiotic I’m going to kick both of your asses the moment this is all sorted out. But yes. Parker _is_ on the ship, with Sophie, but they're _fine_. I promise."

"You." Eliot shook his head, not able to process. "Explain it."

"I needed your phone because it was easier than getting Hardison's number, which Sophie needed. She called him with instructions to call _Parker's_ phone with a very specific message. The message had the intended result, which was to turn Cornelius' own crew against him. There's still fighting going on, and it's no good, but they're fighting themselves, now."

"You just moved the fighting to a different _location_ , Nate. Far as plans go?"

Nate pulled a face. "Yeah. Ah. This? This wasn't the plan. This is just what we had to work with when we got here. It's plan B. The school was already burning when we arrived, so we had to adapt. But it's as close to okay as we're going to get." Nate pointed up at the sky.

 _This ain't the time to be stargazing_ , Eliot was about to say, either before or after punching Nate in the face, but then he caught it. Movement. Not stars, but lights. Helicopters.

Nate's grin, though, was still smug enough that punching him was still a viable consideration. "We've got some UN Peacekeepers running backup on this one," Nate explained, "And all the US soldiers we could get our hands on. Means you can stand down, we've got backup."

Eliot went as far as leaning against the concrete wall to watch as more people were led in. "What about them?"

"It's not a hospital, but there are supplies up there. Food and water, too. And we should have reinforcements here in a little while."

Eliot had never liked the movies where the cavalry came in to save the day, but it was a ridiculous complaint. He forced himself to move on, asking Nate how he'd known about the phones.

"The what?" Nate shook his head, not understanding.

Eliot shrugged, knowing it was a stupid question, but the only one he could ask that might get an answer that might make sense. "The phones. For your plan B?"

"Heard from a friend who heard from a friend that three went missing the other day, thanks to, well, _you_ , probably, given the description." Nate smirked, reveling in the reveal. "The fact that Hardison removed the GPS just meant that we couldn't track you down before this entire mess got started."

"You saying we're getting predictable?"

" _Getting_ predictable?" Nate shook his head as he laughed. "I know you. _All_ of you. I know what you can do, what you can't, and most importantly, I know what each of you _would_ do."

"Right. So. How long before Hardison gets here?"

"I don't know," Nate glanced down at his watch, his eyes flashing in recognition. He hadn't finished frowning by the time Eliot started dialing. _He should've made it here by now_.

Alec didn't answer, but a strange woman's voice instructed him to check the number and dial again.

Something was wrong. Something was _very_ fucking wrong.

He pushed himself away from the support of the wall. "I'm going after him."

"Eliot-"

"No, Nate. Ain't talking about this."

"Got that. Just give me your phone number first."

\---

Word had gotten out, apparently, and Eliot found himself walking against heavy traffic for the first time in a year as everyone poured from the relative safety of whatever homes they'd made for themselves to converge on the parking garage.

Parker's storage unit wasn't too far from where 90 met up with 93, but it was a still a lot farther than Eliot was comfortable with.

It didn't stop the hope from lurching in his chest when he felt the phone vibrate in his hands. It was Nate. It had been ten minutes.

"Not even there yet. Five, ten minutes at worst."

"Keep me posted."

"No shit," Eliot snarled, glancing up at the street ahead, finding a patch of clear space, and finally broke into a run.

\---

The area around the storage unit was calm, quieter than it had been when there'd been a million more people living in the city.  It probably didn't matter that the front door was wide open, but Eliot entered quietly, just in case.

He stalked up one hallway and down the next, trying to listen, to hear anything there was to hear, and coming up empty.

Halfway down the third, he saw it, a glimmer of dim light coming from inside the half-open door. The urge to rush over was strong, but he kept himself in check, creeping to the doorway and easing his head through the door, searching.

Alec was sitting in the near dark, but his smile was bright when he caught sight of him. It took a moment to recognize it for the grimace that it was, and only a second to understand why.

He had his hand clasped tightly against his side, trying to stem the blood flow with red-slicked fingers.

It didn't seem to be working.  



	11. Chapter 11

Alec paced the storage unit, his eyes glued to the phone, trying to keep his patience in check and watching the time crawl.

It would only take a minute or so for Nate to call Sophie- Sophie, who was _alive_ and _nearby_ and _already in the game_ , to tell her Alec was in play.

He forced himself to look away, study the stack of boxes in the corner. _A watched pot never boils_ , Nana used to say. But the waiting was killing him. In the meantime, he tried to puzzle out Nate's game.

Nate had said that Sophie was playing Cornelius, playing the Ice Queen with a proposition. Basic enough, though Alec had no idea how they'd managed to pick their game so well.

 _Man's probably psychic_ , he guessed, not for the first time. He'd _have_ to be, to know that he could call up out of the blue, spit out some instructions, and assume that Alec was in a position where he could follow them to the letter.

Then again, that was Nate and Sophie. He picked the plays, she picked her acts, and they'd _always_ been damned good.

 _Come on, hurry up_.

That left the last piece, trying to figure out why he was calling Parker's phone, instead of calling Sophie directly. It would've made sense, yeah, if he was intending to speak to _Parker_ , and if he'd had a different message.

He kept his eyes on the phone and watched as _finally_ , the digits flipped over. It was now 8:17, and he had a war to start.

He dialed Parker's number and waited, listening as the phone rang for what felt like a very long time. When the call was answered, he began to speak in a harsh monotone.

"I'm moving on Cornelius tonight. Getting you your piece, this town's gonna be yours, but the price just went from five to seven. I know about that woman, and don't like new players in on the scene, see. Same place, meet me at ten with the money, and I'll order the hit."

Just like Nate had promised, it was Cornelius' voice that answered, his tone irate. "Who the hell _is_ this-"

But Alec was already ending the call, smirking in satisfaction. He hadn't been able to hang up on somebody in _forever_.

Wanting to savor the feeling for a little bit longer, he shoved the phone in his pocket, listening to it rattle against the screwdriver. He'd call Nate on the way, tell him it was done.

He was almost at the door when he realized he'd left the lantern on, over by the compressor. Turning back to shut it off, he heard the noise behind him, but it wasn't warning enough. By the time he landed, _hard_ , on his back, they were already on him.

\---

A heel to the underside of the jaw knocked the second guy back, but the first was already coming at his neck with a knife.

He caught the man's arm with both hands and pushed up as hard as he could, but didn't have the leverage to gain any distance between himself and the blade.

He knew he was staring at the guy's face, but he wasn't seeing it, not really. He was trying to find two brain cells to rub together, trying to fucking _think_.

He'd watched Eliot fight plenty of times, trying to pick up on some detail that had turned the tables, but it wasn't easy to find. Eliot never let them get this close.

Alec was out of practical guidance, there, then and saved one portion of his sneer for the thought. Eliot would have made this look _so_ damned easy. Slid out from under like it was nothing.

Fucking bastard.

 _Wait._

Yeah.

That's it.

Eliot wouldn't have been grappling like this, fighting against the force head on. He was smarter than that, knew how to conserve his energy for when he had a better chance to use it. In the meantime, he'd be working to _deflect_ the force. Basic daggum physics, then, slithering out sideways.

It was easier said than done, but Alec managed to rotate his elbows, bring his shoulder up just enough that- yeah, there it was- his assailant was shifted slightly enough balance to-

Alec brought his arms down to the left, letting go at only the last second as he rolled right. He glanced back just in time to see the man pushing his face up from the concrete floor with a grimace.

"Figured you'd pull something like this," The other man said from his admittedly smart position behind his gun, and Alec hadn't had the time to notice, before, but it was Johnson, one of the trainees from earlier.

 _Fucker must've doubled back_.

"Now just stay right the fuck down there," he said, while the other guy shoved at Alec's back, grabbing the gun from his waistband.

"As much as I'd like to know how you managed to get a _phone_ up and running, I'm a little more interested in who the fuck it was that you were talking to. Who you're working with. Ah- keep your hands in the motherfucking air. I'll _tell_ you when you can reach down and give me the phone."

Alec glowered, glanced sideways. They got their hands on that, one call to the main number, and Cornelius would know he'd been played. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out the connection between new arrivals on the scene and everything going to hell in a hand basket.

Sophie was going to get burned. This was _bad_.

But. Maybe. If Johnson didn't know what was going on, than maybe the other guy didn't know, either.

"Sorry, boss," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor in careful submission.

There was a startled pause before both men answered. "What?"

 _It's not the words that are important. It's the space between the words where all the ideas creep their ways in. The words, usually, just get in the way_ , Sophie had once explained, back on some job that had been terrifying at the time but looked like preschool by comparison.

"Who's he talking to?"

Johnson scoffed. "We're the only ones here, dipshit, and what do you _mean_ , what's he mean? He was talking to _you_."

"I ain't working with the punk. You're the one been hanging 'round with him all-"

"He's playing us," Johnson interrupted, smirking, and Alec cut his eyes in Dipshit's direction before darting away again, pretending to be scared. It didn't take much, and it had the desired effect. All that was left now was to make it look like he didn't give a damn anymore, that he knew he was going to get killed, and that he wouldn't be bothered much by what happened next. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, Dipshit cut him off, never knowing he was cementing the deal.

"I'm gonna cut your lying throat out, you little fucking-"

"He hasn't said anything yet," Johnson swung his gun in Dipshit's direction, and there it was. Suspicion firmly planted. "I mean, shit. Man's gotta wonder what's going on when he sees a guy go at a mark with a knife instead of a gun."

Johnson was talking out of his ass, imagining that it had actually meant anything at all, taking what he'd seen and forcing it into the shape his mind had already selected.

While they were distracted with their argument, Alec moved away, carefully, as if protecting himself from the conflict. It earned him a sidelong glance, but the arguing continued.

Shifting slightly, he was able to position the phone in his pocket against the multi tool. One final shift, to move his weight onto that small point, and he heard the plastic crack. Hopefully it was enough. He couldn't afford to check.

Not with the other two seemingly settling their differences, now.

"Nice try, punk. Stand your ass up."

Alec did so, moving slowly and trying to keep his hands as far from himself as possible.

Worst-case scenario, barring any other good ideas, they had him, but they wouldn't be able to get to the others.

Dipshit came around back and grabbed the phone out of his back pocket, and the multi tool too.

" _Shit_. Broken." Up front, Johnson's eyes were darting to the phone. A moment later came the sound of plastic hitting the floor. One small piece, and then a slightly larger, more shattering crash.

"Doesn't matter," Johnson said, and raised his gun, pointing it at Alec's chest, and smiled. "You should have just gone home," he laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

And that was a stupid thing to do in a fight. Alec knew that because he'd done it several times himself, and it always amounted to the same thing.

It always gave the other guy the chance to move.

He dropped down to the floor, falling back and to the side, shoving against Dipshit's leg as he did so, bringing him down as well.

Johnson, though, had already got a shot off, Alec's head was full with the sound as he grabbed Dipshit, pulling him on top of him before wrenching his fingers back, making him drop the gun.

The second shot came as he was trying to sit up, but Dipshit the human shield caught it this time. And the third, and the fourth might've gone through him, but Alec wasn't sure.

Johnson didn't have a shield, so Johnson went down, hard. Alec shot him again, anyhow.

When it was all over, he shoved Dipshit to the side and crawled away, convinced he was going to throw up. His stomach actually _hurt_ from all this.

\---

The blood wasn't a good sign, either.

\---

" _Fuck_ , Hardison!" Eliot fell to his knees and Alec let him pull his shirt up and away to assess. Two gunshots, one to the side, and one a few inches inwards that didn't look quite so bad.

"Tried getting the bandages. Couldn't reach," Alec grimaced as Eliot forced Alec's hand back to his side. "Got tired."

"Shh," Eliot hissed, opening the package and moving back to keep the pressure on. "You're okay," he said, and Alec stuttered, trying to laugh as he closed his eyes again.

"Yeah, sure… they didn't get the phone," he muttered, and the nonsensical response stopped Eliot's heart cold.

 _Fuck_ , there was nothing he could do for him here. There were doctors, over at the parking garage, but Alec would never make it.

It was anyone's guess if they'd make it out here in time. If they even knew where the fuck to go.

Alec's face was screwed up in pain, but that was good. Meant he was still feeling. He was still breathing, too. He was doing everything he was supposed to be doing, here.

Eliot, on the other hand, was staring down at him like an idiot. Two more packs of bandages, and he'd be out of supplies. He was already out of ideas.

Ideas were Nate's job.

Careful not to move his left hand, he fished the phone out of his pocket, and dialed Nate.

"Eliot?"

"He's _down_ Nate. Got shot. Losing a lot of blood, and I don't know-"

"Where are you?"

"Parker's storage unit. Ah. Castle Self Storage." His hair was hanging damply against his forehead, a stupid thing to be distracted by. "Old Colony Avenue. We're pretty far out, I just-"

" _Eliot_. Is the street outside clear?"

"Huh? What?" _Alec's sitting here dying and Nate wants a goddamn traffic report?_ "Yeah. Wide open, but-"

"Get him outside. Fast as you can. Help's on its way."

"Nate, man, I-"

" _Do_ it!" Nate growled. In the instant he disconnected the call, Eliot became convinced that he was about to lose his freakin' mind.

 _You're panicking. Stop it_ , he tried convincing himself, but then Alec's free hand moved, grabbed his shirt.

"El?"

"You're going to be fine," Eliot decided, reining it in. He could do this. He could at least fucking _try_.

He slung the pack over his shoulder before taking a breath. "Okay. Here's the deal. I don't want to have to ask this, but can you walk?"

"What?"

"Can you walk? We need to get out of here, _now_. Help's coming, but they need to be able to find us, and they're going to need room to work."

"Help….up, an' we'll see."

\---

It took a few minutes to get him standing, another to maneuver around the _two dead bodies_ that Eliot had been too freaked to notice before. It took several more minutes to reach the street, but Alec had passed out somewhere in the vicinity of the front entrance.

Eliot laid him down on the street and sat behind him, pulling his head into his lap and pressing down on the sluggishly flowing wounds with all the strength that he had left.

His head was pounding and his mind was swimming, spinning off in a million directions all at once, and Eliot's hands shook too hard to be sure if he was really feeling Alec's pulse, or just imagining it.

 _He doesn't feel this_ , Eliot told himself, deliberately looking away. _Easier on him. Less shock to the system_. It wasn't much of a consolation.

They were sitting here in the middle of the street, right out in the open. Two men lay dead, inside, but there was no way of knowing if they'd been alone. One or two more bullets, fired from anywhere, could end this now.

His arms were shaking and covered in Alec's blood. He was tired. He almost wished the shots would come.

His eyes followed the street's centerline as far as he could see and tried to imagine what headlights looked like. Could almost imagine it, too, up at the intersection, only nothing was making sense, because the light was coming down on him. When he looked down, to warn him, maybe, to ask madly if he was the only one seeing this, Alec's face was cast in shadow. Eliot couldn't even find it.

He finally noticed the noise, then. Motors. Scratch that. _Rotors_.

Eliot's face was wet, but when he blinked, managed to clear his eyes for a second, the helicopter was still there. Another blink, and it was getting _really_ hard to focus, but he thought he saw medics running towards them, shouting.

 _Where'd you come from?_ he nearly asked, but he didn't fucking care, because they were _there_ and maybe things were going to be _fine_ but miracles didn't happen, not to guys like him. He wasn't ready for them to wrench Alec out of his arms.

Afterwards, he knew he looked like an idiot, fucking _sobbing_ so hard he couldn't get enough air, much less answer their questions, and he was thinking that there was only so much he could take before he finally _lost_ it.

It wasn't until he felt himself sliding into unconsciousness that he figured that he already probably _had_.


	12. Chapter 12

  
Eliot knew, even before he came to, that he was strapped to a chair. A shift of the arms, though, proved that his hands were free, unbound. It would have warned his captors, so he didn't grin at the discovery.

 _What kind of idiot-_

The floor dipped dangerously beneath him, he could feel himself falling, and his eyes shot open. In front of him was a pilot. In front of the pilot were controls and the sky.

It took a moment to make any sense.

 _Right. Helicopter. What-_

Alec. He turned his head sharply enough to waken the headache that had been lying in wait, needing to see.

Alec's legs were tied down to the stretcher. More than that, Eliot couldn't see. Three medics were working on him. He wanted to ask, get a status report or something, but even confused as he was, he knew this scene. Distracting them wasn't the best plan.

There was a cough to his left, and when he looked, Nate was seated next to him. He was sweating, nervous as he fiddled with the seal of the bottle in his hands. "You're dehydrated, El." Finally, he got it open and held it out. "They say it tastes like Gatorade, only worse, but it gets the job done."

"Thanks," Eliot said, grabbing the bottle. _Alec's bleeding out and Nate's handing me kool-aid._ Eliot drank some down. Nate wasn't lying about the taste. "How's he doing?"

"I, ah. I don't know." Nate rubbed at his neck and glanced over his shoulder to check. "But they're doing what they can."

Eliot forced himself to nod. It was what he was expecting, and it wasn't the worst answer his question could've received. "How long was I out? And where the hell are we going?"

"About a minute. Just enough time that it was a total pain in the ass loading you in here. We're on course for the Ark Royal."

"What the hell's that?"

" _That_ " Nate smirked, pointing out the windshield, and up ahead, Eliot could see the lights below, a city's worth of light, swimming up out of the darkness.

No. Not a city.

They were heading for a ship.

"An _aircraft carrier_?" He tore his eyes away, scowled at Nate, and looked again. " _Really_?"

\---

The helicopter began to make its descent, and Eliot moved on. "Where are we?"

"Just outside Pleasure Bay," Nate shrugged. "Long story, I'll tell you _after_ you've been checked out."

"I'm fine."

"Then it won't take the doctors long, will it?" Nate smirked, but his heart wasn't in it. "Still have work to do."

Eliot had forgotten about the fighting that was probably still happening, down in the city. The people at the garage. What Nate was even doing _sitting_ here, he couldn't guess.

But he was sort of glad he was.

\---

On the ground, well, on the ship, things sped up again. Stairs going down and a hallway and then a huge room full of cots and patients and rushing nurses. Stethoscopes and thermometers and blood pressure cuffs and lights in his eyes, and finally they were able to tell him that he was exhausted. Needed to rest, needed to eat, needed to re-hydrate.

 _No shit_.

What he needed, though, what he _really_ needed was to know if Alec was still alive, but the nurses hadn't been much help. "He's going to be in surgery for at least a few hours," one said, glancing back towards the operating room doors as she checked the connections for Eliot's IV.

  
Scratch that. Right _now_ , Eliot needed a target.

\---

"No, Eliot. _No_ freakin' way.” Nate was dead set against it. “Sophie and Parker are still in play. You go out there right now, in the state you're in, and you're going to get them killed, if you even make it that far. So sit your ass down. Get some rest. I have to get back."

“What, so this is _your_ fight now?” Eliot glared at Nate, knowing full well that the IV drip stand at his elbow probably wasn't helping his case, but trying anyway.

“Seriously? Is _that_ what this is about?" Nate rolled his eyes. "We’ve got about two hundred scared, injured people up top. Some of them were fighting on opposite sides an hour ago. One of two things is about to happen. Either a massive celebration, or-”

“Lynch mob.” He'd seen it before. Not wanting to see Nate's voice, in case he confirmed, Eliot looked down at the needle taped into his arm. “So what, we just sit here and wait for someone to do something stupid?”

“Ah, no. _You_ just sit here, while I go up top do something stupid.”

“They don’t know you,” Eliot dragged himself to his feet and dropped his tone. “I can help. I know more of them than you do. And also? This ain’t my first rodeo. You’re sitting here talking about riots breaking out? I’ve started three, derailed seven, and stopped two outright. Any more bad guys need to be cleaned out, I'm the one for the job.”

“I know." Nate's eyes were suddenly everywhere but Eliot, but his tone was apologetic. "And that's exactly why you _can't_ be up there right now. So. Ah. Just try and get some rest, yeah?"

\---

Nobody down here seemed to know anything. The nurses couldn't tell him about Alec, the guards couldn't tell him about Nate.

Eliot had never thought of himself as being particularly patient, but this was worse. Nate wasn't back yet, Sophie and Parker were still out in the field, and Hardison was-

Alec was _fine_.

\---

It wasn't just the IV line that was keeping him tied to the cot, and it wasn't the guards who were patrolling the ward. It was the knowledge that whichever path he chose, whether it was to jump ship and find Sophie and Parker, or try to give Nate some backup, or burst into the operating room, his presence would only make things worse.

The operating room doors flashed open for only a second. He could see the back of one of the doctors, the ties of his surgical scrubs, but it told him nothing.

 _It means there's still hope. That's not nothing_ , he told himself, too tired to believe it fully.

\---

More people were filling the cots, now, too many for him to track.

Judging by the saline drip, Eliot had been waiting for a little over an hour, riding alternating waves of worry, confusion, and dizziness when he heard the ship's broadcast system buzz to life.

It was Nate's voice that spoke, and he sounded irritated, more than anything.

“ _Okay, look. All of you. What you’ve heard is true. Cornelius has been taken out of the game. Right now, there are soldiers working to make sure that his entire system goes down with him. Which means we've all won. But that. None of this matters if you're not going to do better than he did. And this, here, is your first chance_."

Eliot wasn't familiar enough with ships to know if Nate intended his words to reach everyone on board, or if he only meant to address the people gathered up top.

It could've been a call for backup.

Eliot stood up and pulled the needle from his arm, because really? He hadn't needed it in the first place. It seemed, though, that the infirmary guards were ready for their charges to attempt to escape.

Nate's, though, continued. His voice, more than anything, more than the guards, was what led Eliot back to the bed. He'd _let_ them overpower him, manhandle him back into the cot, and get a nurse to prep a new needle for the drip bag.

Because Nate was still talking, and his tone was unafraid. It had nothing to do with the fact that Eliot's vision had swam when he'd stood, that his attempt to escape had been weak, uncoordinated.

" _You know that Cornelius worked through threats and intimidation. Some of you, he stole from. Some of you, he had beat and raped. He threatened your families. Some of you ran, hid. Some of you stole from your neighbors, and some of you went to work for him. All of you did what you had to do to survive._ "

There was a roar of angry voices coming from the deck, and Eliot tensed.

Nate wasn't placating them, he was pushing their buttons.

Any minute now, Nate would need him., but he'd already blown it. The guards-and half of the other patients- were watching him intently now. One of the guards had done him the kindness of directing his attention towards the restraints on the bed, and looked him in the eye, meaningfully. _Your choice_ , is what he'd meant.

Somewhere, Eliot could hear crying, sharper and louder than the rest of the people.

" _People, please_ ," Nate continued, once he'd let the noise crest. " _This isn't a clean slate. I'm not naïve enough to ask you to forgive one another. I'm just telling you that Cornelius' way of doing business is no longer an option. All you need to do is remember who you were a year ago. Last summer, if a crime was committed, you would put the accused on trial. You would not execute them in cold blood_."

The OR door opened again, and Eliot forgot to breathe. A nurse came out with a smile on her face, but she wasn't crossing the room towards him, she was heading towards a row of chairs, filled with people who seemed to be waiting.

He had to crane his neck to look, but he noticed Jay sitting there in one of the plastic chairs, looking back up at her hopefully.

"The mother is safe, and so are the twins. Congratulations!"

"I'm not the father," Jay said, but his grin was wide anyway.

The good news hadn't been for Eliot.

He looked away and tried to ignore his own attempts to warn himself off hope. Tried to focus, again, on what Nate was saying.

In the next cot over, the woman with the wrapped ankle seemed to be having a better time of it, her eyes glancing from the speakers to Eliot, and back again. He was part of her scenery, nothing more. Like everyone down here, she had her own problems.

Eliot thought about screaming. Venting it all out. Everyone would hear him, stare. Everyone but the four people he actually gave a damn about.

 _Focus_

" _So here's the carrot. This ship is stocked with enough supplies to keep you going for a little while, and people who volunteered to come out to try and help. Here's the stick. Winter's coming, and there are a lot of cities hurting right now. Plenty of other ports, and frankly, the people funding these relief efforts are going to want to see that they're doing some good. You're going to need more help over the next few months, and part of that help is going to have to come from all of you. So. To sum up, you people need each other more than you ever had or ever will again. Don't screw it up._ "

The radio cut out, but Eliot could hear the noise surging from up top. Some shouting, but it was quickly buried by the humming of two hundred talking voices.

Half of them, Eliot guessed, were thinking of ways to get back at Nate for being such a jackass.

None of them, up there, were talking about Alec. They were all worried, but not about Alec. They had no reason to be. They had their own problems.

Eliot hated them all, just for existing. The fact that he knew how irrational it was didn't help at all.

\---

Nate knew exactly what Eliot's glare meant, when he came back down. "What, you think puppies and flowers would've worked better?"

"So instead, your solution was to get everyone in earshot pissed off at you."

"Yeah. Inelegant, but hey, it's a unifying force if ever there was one," Nate shrugged, glancing uncomfortably towards the door of the operating room. "How's he doing?"

"I don't know," Eliot admitted, again swallowing the panic, but even to his own ears, some of it came through. "Nobody's come out yet. I don't know if that's…"

Nate knocked his fist against the foot of the bed. "I'll go check."

\---

He was gone for a very long time. When he came back, his first words were "Eliot, I'm sorry."

Whatever he said next, Eliot couldn't hear. He refused to. Looked instead at the speaker by the ceiling, thinking that Nate should be talking through _that_ , instead. Pissing people off, instead of breakin' his fucking heart.

Not fully aware that he was doing it, Eliot stood, again ripping the needle from his arm and heading towards the operating room, until Nate caught him by his elbow and dug his thumb in, _hard_ over the puncture.

" _Shit_." Jerking him back to look at his face, Nate continued, shaking his head. "No, you idiot. I meant I was sorry it took so long. The doctors were busy. He's gonna be fine."

"What?"

"They're stitching him up right now. He's already breathing on his own again." He belatedly realized that Eliot had stopped moving, loosening his grip but not releasing him. "Yeah. Ah. Hmm."

Eliot, for his part, wasn't really tracking much of anything. "He's okay?" It didn't sound right. Not real.

"So far, yeah. They're going to move him in a while, but-" Nate looked up when one of the nurses appeared at his side. On the other side, one of the guards from earlier was flanking his position. Nate pretended not to notice him. "Okay, look. How about we, ah." He shook his head. "Tell you what. You let the professionals put the line back in. Then we'll go…hang out in the waiting area, you can see him when they move him to recovery, okay?"

Eliot didn't notice until he looked up that Nate was asking the nurse, not him, but it was the best thing on offer.

"Fine."

"Okay. Third time's the charm," the nurse said, and Eliot ducked Nate's glance. "Leave it in this time, all right?"

\---

Once the line was re-inserted, Eliot had to deal with another doctor and another round of flashlights in the eyes, but then Nate was there again, steadying the IV rack as Eliot stood. Instead of leading him towards the waiting area, though, Nate steered him past it.

"Okay. Here's the deal. The nurses and guards in here are about as sick of you are you are of them, they're willing to transfer you to the room that Alec's recovering in for the night. As long as you eat something, and try to get some sleep, they'll probably release you in the morning."

Eliot hadn't realized that the operating room was in the middle of the ship. Beyond it was a metal wall, a wide door, and another cavernous area that looked much like the first, but darker. The overhead lights were dim, and most of the available light came from the thin fluorescent fixtures attached to the walls of the cubicles they passed.

The lights and the cubicles weren't the only difference. There were full hospital beds, here, more substantial and permanent than the cots lined up on the other side. Some of them had machines surrounding them. Some were blocked off by heavy curtains.

Eliot told himself that the curtains had some muffling properties, and that's why most of the beds were quiet.

Nate was checking the numbers of each cube they passed, and stopped at number 35. "This is you," he said, gesturing inside to the cot someone had crammed in there, next to the bed. "Ain't the Hilton, and I hope you're not too particular about beds-"

Eliot laughed, at that, and sat down on the cot.

"How long's he gonna be?"

"Not long," Nate glanced down at his phone, frowning. "Okay, look. It's late. I'll be back to check in as soon as I can, but I'm not getting a signal down here, and it's almost time for me to check in with Parker."

"Where is she?"

"If she's not cleaning out Cornelius' office, she's getting off the ship."

"And Sophie?"

"She's leading Cornelius and his most trusted people up into Cambridge." He nodded as Eliot lay back in the cot. "That's the blow-off."

"What the hell kind of job _is_ she blowing off, exactly?

Nate opened his mouth to answer, but there were wheels rolling by, and an instant later, Alec's unconscious- _only unconscious_ \- body was being transferred to the bed. Nate watched, for a moment, clearly not enjoying the view, before tipping his head in Eliot's direction and walking away.

Whatever Nate had been about to say could wait.

\---

Historically speaking, most of Eliot's injuries had been of a sort best handled in the field, or in a hotel room bathroom, away from the prying eyes of, well, anyone, but it didn't mean he didn't know a crash monitor when he saw one. The transfusion bag hanging from the rack was likewise self-explanatory.

Alec wasn't on oxygen, which was a relief. It meant two things. One, Alec was breathing of his own volition. Two, Eliot could see his face, no problem.

He could see a lot more than that, too. Alec's chest was bare, the bright swaths of bandages glaring against his skin. Eliot wondered if Alec felt the cold, or if he was too far under to notice.

If he was a better guy, he'd probably get up, pull the sheets up a little higher, but then Eliot wouldn't be able to watch him breathing. It didn't matter if he was being monitored. It was hard enough, seeing in the near dark. He didn't need anything getting in the way.

\---

"I can leave the curtain shut, leave the light on while you eat," the nurse offered, her hand already on the frame she'd pulled around, once Eliot's arm was free of the IV line.

"Nah," Eliot said. "Shut 'em off and open it."

\---

Dinner was horrible, awful hospital stuff.

He kind of wanted to wake Alec up, just to rave about the chicken.

\---

At some point, Eliot slept, if fitfully. Didn't matter, though. He'd been staring at Alec so long that the image was burned into his dreams.

\---

The ground was rocking. Alec wondered if this was the prelude, or merely an aftershock. If the world had ended while he'd…what.. Slept?

He opened his eyes to find a light overhead, too dim to do much good, but enough that he could see that he was in a hospital bed.

 _That movie. 28 Days Later. Jim wakes up and there's nobody, it's already too late, they're all gone, and-_

Chill, man.

The end came a while back. You were there for it.

It didn't mean this was making any sense.

 _Why the hell is the floor moving?_

Painkillers, probably.

Which meant there'd been someone there to _give_ him painkillers. Didn't make sense, not really. Cornelius didn't seem the sort.

 _But, okay. Cool. We're in business_.

Alec's head wasn't so sure, though. Even turning it made the floor move again, and he could still feel the shift in gravity through his entire body. _A ship. This must be Cornelius' place_.

He could think about it later, though, since it looked like there was going to _be_ a later, at least for a little while.

And _Eliot_ was lying right there.

The portion of his face not blocked by the crook of his elbow was hidden behind his hair. He was lying on his side, and now that Alec had his bearings about him a little bit more, he could hear him breathing.

 _You got me out. Don't know how, but…_

Alec coughed, quietly, testing, because maybe Eliot was only pretending, getting ready to fake out their captors, but he didn't wake.

He wished he would, though, because there were footsteps coming, and Eliot had managed to get him here, wherever _here_ was, and from the looks of things, Alec Hardison was counting himself among the living, but that didn't mean shit, not really.

As the curtain was drawn aside, Alec's hand passed over the bandages on his chest, and he was about to ask why they'd bothered fixing him up if they were just here to kill him, but the nurse was smiling at him. Looked honestly happy to see him.

It was all a little bit strange.

\---

The doctor was heading back to pick up the results of some test or another, but the nurse was still standing outside. They'd pulled a curtain out from the wall, so Alec couldn't see Eliot, but he could hear his voice. He sounded concerned, but not angry. That was good. No sense attacking the doctors. Alec wasn't sure, but he probably needed them, for a while yet.

He fell asleep before it even occurred to him to try and speak.

\---

The next time he woke up, it was because his side hurt, _bad_ , and he was clenching his teeth against the pain too tightly to call out. Opening his eyes seemed like a wasted effort, right up until he heard it.

"Alec. Hey. Doctor's on her way."

Eliot's voice. Maybe the effort wouldn't be a total waste.

The lights were on, now, and Eliot was sitting next to the bed, his head propped up on one hand.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled.

"Asshole," Alec joked. "Smiling like that when I'm lying here dying."

The crinkles went away, fast. "Don't." Eliot picked up his wrist, prying his arm away from his stomach.

There was no way Eliot didn't notice the wince when it came.

"Hey, gonna get some more painkillers in you, okay?" he said, and there was a pause, there, where it seemed like he was winding up to say something else, but then his jaw tightened around a thin smile. "Probably gonna knock you out again."

"How long-"

"Shh," Eliot released his hold and backed away, looking to his left.

"Okay, here we go," a woman's voice answered, and there was movement on the other side of Alec's bed. "We're putting you on the good stuff, now that we know you can handle it."

Alec nodded, and within a few minutes, the pain had receded into a dull ache.

"El, I'm tired, man. Gonna pass out again, but. When I wake up again, you'd better be sitting right there, ready to tell me what the hell is going on, okay?"

"I'll try and have it figured out by then," Eliot snorted, but reached out, again, brushing against the bandages. Alec tried to catch his hand, but he was too slow.

\---

It was the middle of the night when he heard Eliot's voice, quiet enough that if he'd been sleeping, it wouldn't have woken him. "Dammit, Hardison. Why didn't you leave town, get out of here when the getting was good?"

He knew that Eliot was mostly talking to himself, and that chafed, more than anything. He gave it some thought, though, and then opened his eyes. "Someone had to keep things going."

"Things."

It sucked, that he had to even explain it, after all this.

"The mail. Parker needed help getting power going in the school. Trying to get supplies through to the doctors, when we still had them." Alec's nostrils flared; he was dangerously close to fully waking. "You know all this, man. Shit."

"Yeah," was all Eliot said in response.

\---

In return for a promise that he'd be quick, that he wouldn't strain himself, it hadn't been too hard to convince the nurse to arrange for a change of clean clothes. Now that he was sure Alec safe and sleeping, there was no reason not to avail himself of a chance to finally wash away the night.

The showers were empty, but still damp, recently used. Near the door there were racks filled with soap and shampoo, rough towels and washcloths. He stripped down and threw his dirty clothes into the half-full hamper waiting there.

He wondered if the clothes were going to be washed, or burned.

As expected, the water pressure sucked, but it was almost warm, and it was working, and it wasn't like he was planning on loitering in here anyway. He had to get back, wait to hear from Nate, wait for Alec to wake up again. Preferably in that order.

Otherwise, all he'd be able to tell Alec was what Nate had told him, unless he wanted to be a little too honest and try explaining what it had felt like to wake at three in the morning and stare until five, because he hadn't been entirely sure Alec was even _breathing_.

He had been, though. Worst yet, he'd been awake and listening, heard Eliot say some things that made sense in the middle of the night and just looked _shitty_ during the day.

And if Eliot wasn't going to talk about that, _either_ , there was no _way_ he was going to bring up what it had been like staring at the doors of an operating room, trying to hold on to hope.

He shut the shower off and dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist before coming around the corner to get dressed.

He wasn't ready to get tackled, not really. It came from behind.

\---

 _Dammit_ , Parker! I'm, like, practically naked here!"

"And hardly a scratch on you," she grinned, pulling away. "Hardison's sleeping, and the nurse said you were in here."

"Ah. _Yeah_?" Eliot rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have just waited back in the cube?"

"Tried, but..." Hearing the echo off the tiles, Parker dropped her eyes, her voice going quiet. "He looked… is he okay?"

"Yeah. Two bullet holes in him, but he's gonna be fine." Eliot gestured towards his clothes. "You mind?"

"No."

"I mean-" but Parker was already turning her back. "Yeah, you should really hurry up. Nate and Sophie will be down here in about ten minutes."

"What?" Eliot tossed the towel aside and hurried to dress himself before she forgot why she was watching the hamper.

"They're up top, talking with the captain about how they're going to handle the prisoner."

"The prisoner?" The shirt was the biggest pain to get on, sticking to his still damp skin as he tried to pull it over his head.

"Cornelius. They've got him locked in the brig. I think Sophie's trying to convince everyone to make him walk the plank."

"Don't think they do that anymore," he muttered, scrubbing at his hair, and grabbing a comb out of the box. His head was starting to pound again.

\---

Eliot sat on the edge of the bed and shook Alec's shoulder, slightly.

"Hey, man. Wake up."

"Hm?" Alec scowled before blearily glaring up a him. Even annoyed, his eyes were gorgeous.

Too busy thinking that ten hours ago, there'd been a very good chance he'd never see them open and aware, ever again, Eliot forgot what he'd meant to say. Just stared back, his hand wrapped- too tightly, it turned out- around Alec's shoulder.

When it got too much, Alec caught his hand, began pressing circles into his palm. He was working his jaw like he was about to say something, but Eliot remembered, then, and nodded back towards the foot of the bed

If he was a little irritated by the grin that Parker's presence caused, or the tightness of Alec's arms around Parker's shoulders, he shoved it down. It wasn't like he was the only one allowed to give a damn.

\---

 _Parker's fine. Eliot's fine_ , was really all that mattered, yeah, but it didn't mean any of this was making sense.

"So what the hell?" he asked, as Parker stood up again, exchanging a glance with Eliot, which he dropped first. It didn't look like either of them knew where to start.

"Okay, fine. Something easier. Where the hell are we, and how did we get here? In whichever order you'd like." Go figure. He had to be sitting here, trying to get information out of two of the least talkative people he'd ever met in his entire life.

 _I wish Nate was here_.

"Hardison. Eliot. Parker," Nate stepped up to the foot of the bed. "Gang's all here."

He was pretty sure he'd never admit that his next thought, in all honesty, was _holy shit, I have the Force_ , but then he caught sight of long dark hair sliding in behind Nate. _Sophie_ , stalking over to Eliot and wrapping her arms around him, tight.

"Hey, what the hell, Sophie? _I'm_ the one that got shot. Where's _my_ love?"

She smiled, pulling away from Eliot and coming over to kiss his cheek, whispering almost too quietly to hear, "You're okay. He needed it more." She pressed another kiss into his forehead before easing away again, her hand smoothing down his arm as she perched on the side of his bed. "You had us worried there, for a little while."

It occurred to him, then, that he had no idea how long he'd been out. Felt like hours. "How long?"

"Honestly? About eight months. And don't you _ever_ do that again."

\---

It was good, looking around and actually finding everyone _here_ to be looked at, but it didn't fit, yet. Mostly, they were all staring at each other and occupying the same space.

Eliot probably wasn't the only one who didn't know what to do with himself, but he wanted to get on with it, move past this, because-

Because this was as close to home as he'd been in a year, and he didn't want anything as much as he wanted it all _back_.

He just didn't know how to go about getting it, short of chasing everyone out. Maybe he'd just gotten used to taking his cues from Alec, maybe it was just familiarity. Maybe it was because he wanted a rewind on this whole fucking morning. Wanted a chance to talk to him, tell him some things, without three extra sets of eyes.

Nate and Sophie were throwing everything off, which Eliot knew was a shitty thing to think, and he didn't know what to do, really, with Alec's grin, when it landed on him a little longer than he'd been ready for.

Maybe it was the drugs. Probably. But maybe it was his way of saying _you'll get your chance_.

\---

"Okay, I got that Eliot managed to save my ass, and I get that we're on a boat. I also know that as far as I can tell, none of you are hallucinations, though you," he rolled his head towards Parker. "Last I knew, Cornelius you kidnapped."

"No he didn't," Parker shook her head dismissively. "Sophie did."

"Okay. That's a little...extreme. Sophie?"

"I arrived yesterday with a business proposition for Cornelius," Sophie tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Played an Ice Queen from Chicago who had an inside man on a relief shipment that was coming through New Jersey. I promised him a cut of the profit in exchange for letting us borrow his port, and may have made reference to some lines of transport I had that could smuggle goods into and out of the Midwest."

"Okay, but that's no excuse for kidnapping. You do know that, right?"

"Hardison," Nate rolled his eyes.

"I'm getting to that," Sophie said. "Over the course of one of those little bouts of small talk that happen whenever two people meet to conspire for the first time, I mentioned an old partner of mine, who'd last been seen in Boston, who unfortunately probably hadn't survived long enough for me to deal with personally.

"That was me," Parker raised her hand. "Right?"

"Yes, and since Cornelius is _exactly_ the sort of man you'd expect, he realized he could gain some position by offering her up on a platter. I told his men to bring her straight to me so that I might have some words. They did so, quite efficiently."

"You could've come and found us," Eliot ground out, sitting down on his cot. After a moment, Nate joined him, looking a little bored.

"There was no time. Anyway, as soon as Parker arrived, it was no trouble arranging a private interview where I was able to confirm that she still had her phone with her, which she gave to me."

"And yet, you didn't call," Eliot glared.

"It was too risky," Nate cut in. "She had to work on him."

"To be honest, most of the time was spent waiting, but I wasn't left alone for any useful length of time. Eventually, Cornelius called me to his office to discuss the deal further, and it was no problem at all to ditch the phone underneath the table. After I left, he called another meeting, this time with his top men. As soon I saw them filing out, I called Nate, with my _own_ phone, he called Hardison-"

"And I accidentally on purpose spilled the beans about an impending hit on Cornelius, directly _to_ Cornelius," Alec nodded. At least things were _starting_ to make sense. A bit.

"Yes. He fell for it, entirely, and began to panic as he tried to figure out who among his men had betrayed him. "

"Good plan," Eliot rolled his eyes. "Did you _mean_ to start a war with all this?"

"No," Nate waved him off. "Ah. Not at first."

"It wasn't until Cornelius began talking about Parker, when I first brought her up, that I realized he was planning to use her as the opening salvo," Sophie admitted. "I called Nate to warn him, once Cornelius had sent his men to find her, but we honestly hadn't expected him to move in so quickly."

"That's why we were evacuating everyone to the parking garage," Nate explained. "The original plan had all forces hitting Cornelius's ship, clearing it, and using the shipyard as a base, but it didn't work out. Had to go to plan B. That's why we were evacuating people from the top of the parking garage."

In the corner, Eliot was shaking his head, scowling. "If you'd come in quieter, you wouldn't have had to evacuate _anyone_."

  
\---

They'd all been kicked out so the doctor could check in on Hardison, but it was just as well. There was a lot to take in, and frankly, Eliot was more than a little angry.

It wasn't just that he hated playing catch up, that he didn't like being left out of the loop. It was the fact that really, there probably wasn't much he could've done to help. Hell, for everything he _had_ done, he hadn't been there to stop Alec getting shot. Hadn't been able to prevent the school from burning down.

He was pretty sure some of the people who'd gone down in the fight last night hadn't gotten up, yet.

Things got fucked up in the field. He'd known it for years, counted on it, more often than not. He didn't want to blame Nate, but it was hard.

When the doctor eventually emerged, she told all of them to let Alec get some rest. Glancing at Eliot, she paused, twitching the curtain she was drawing closed back, and said, "Mister Spencer? You too."

Given the options of sharing the same hallway as Nate, or going back into the same room as Alec, it wasn't worth fighting her on it.

\---

Alec was still awake when he went inside, his eyes distant, staring through the ceiling.

"Hey."

"Hey." The curtain was closed. Eliot sat down on the bed. "How're you doing?"

Alec shrugged. "Fucked up day."

"Yeah." Eliot agreed, staring at the wall. "So listen. Ah. Just wanted to tell you, I'm _really_ fucking glad you're okay. Scared the hell out of me, back there."

Silence, for a while, long enough that Eliot had to check to see if he was still awake, but when he did so, he caught Alec watching him, right before he turned his attention to a corner of the sheet. "Yeah, well. Weren't for you, I'd be dead. So. Thanks."

Eliot grinned, but doubted he'd pulled it off. "That was all Nate, getting you here. Sorry to tell you. I didn't do shit."

"Didn't look that way where I was sitting," Alec threaded his fingers through Eliot's, squeezing. "And hey. Least you didn't do something stupid like _not_ check for guys with guns listening in on your phone call, right?"

Eliot shrugged. It really wasn't making him feel any better. Mostly, he just hated hearing the defeat in Alec's voice.

 _Don't know which one of us is a sorrier bastard_ , he thought, looking down at their hands.

"So Eliot," Alec waited for him to turn his way. "We won, right?"

"Huh? Oh. Ah. Yeah." _Mostly_.

"Good." Alec's fingers squeezed again as he yawned. "Figure out the rest of it later."

If it was advice, or a question, Eliot couldn't tell, but it needed some sort of acknowledgement.

Alec's mouth was pliant, when they kissed, but his grip didn't slacken.

\---

Alec wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping when Parker's snorting laugh woke him up, and he opened his eyes to find the four of them sitting side by side on Eliot's cot. Eliot, for his part, looked annoyed, cramped into the corner.

"What's going on?"

"Lisa's babies are funny looking," Nate summed up with raised eyebrows, earning a swat from Sophie, who was still shaking her head at Parker. It was Eliot's eye roll, though, that he answered.

"She finally popped, then?"

Eliot nodded. "Apparently they've already got Jay wrapped around his middle finger. Looks like Lisa does, too."

"Seriously? Jay and Lisa?" Alec closed his eyes. He couldn't picture it. "Okay…"

Another minute trying, though, and all he could really think was that it wasn't the only thing he didn't know. There was movement, and Eliot was looking down at him when he opened his eyes, concerned.

"You doin' alright?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. Think I'm awake for a while." He started to push himself up, but settled for letting Eliot adjust the bed, just enough that he could see without stretching his neck. It set off a dull ache in his midsection, but for now, the painkillers were holding it at bay. As long as he didn't concentrate on it. "Okay. So. Cornelius. What happened to him?"

Sophie sat up straight, taking a moment to change gears. "When all the infighting started, I began the blow-off. Told him that things were getting too hot for me, here, and that I was going to ditch out, leave town. He was eager, of course, to invite himself along, even providing a vehicle with which we could make our escape."

"I hit my head in the trunk," Parker chimed in. "He was a really crappy driver."

"Thought you were locked up," Eliot pointed out, earning him a withering glare from Parker and a shrug from Nate.

Sophie smiled. "As soon as we got out past the border, we were captured by soldiers, and held at gunpoint until the helicopter arrived to bring us back here."

 _Weird_ , Alec thought. "Why didn't you just come here directly?

"Because Cornelius' men needed to see him running," Nate coughed. "And once they'd seen it, the fighting broke down, even before the helicopters landed. According to the captain, up top, there were more deaths over in the shipyards than at the school, but on the whole, they came a lot more quietly. Anyway, Cornelius is being held and will be charged by the UN for piracy and siphoning aid, and nearly everything else under the sun."

Alec wasn't listening to all this, not really. His mind had caught on the words _more deaths_ and was running with it.

He had no idea where Mica was. If he'd made it back for his cousin, if he was alive, or if Alec had managed to get him killed.

"Okay. So," Alec shook himself, trying to focus, but it was hard. He wasn't used to coming to a plan from the back end of it, wasn't used to having so many questions.

Once upon a time, at this part of the game, Alec wouldn't have had _any_. He'd have been there from start to finish, and he would have actually done something to help, instead of botching up the one tiny role Nate had assigned him.

Apparently waiting for Alec to continue, it took a moment before Eliot spoke up.

"I gotta ask. Last I heard, Nate, you were in prison, and you," he pointed at Sophie, "weren't even in the country. How'd you," he waved his hands, trailing off.

"Several months back, I made an arrangement with some rather nice women in the more charitable portions of London society. They were coming in to Maine to assist with the coordination of overseas adoption for the orphans, and they had enough ties with relief organizations to pull it off. I came with them to work as a fixer, and in return, they got me into the country. After a few days sorting them out, I talked my way onto a military convoy headed for New York."

Nate picked up the narration from there, grinning. "She shows up, flashes all this paperwork around with UN stamps all over it, and I worked out a deal. My knowledge, applied in the field, in exchange for a commuted sentence."

Alec bit the inside of his lip, knowing he should've been impressed by all this, by what they'd managed, but it was depressing.

Once upon a time, he would've been able to help, to do _something_. Nate had been locked up, and Sophie an ocean away, and they'd breezed through it like it was kindergarten.

A glance towards Eliot and Parker revealed that they were probably thinking similar thoughts.

It was Parker who finally spoke, frowning in confusion. "Okay. So. How did you know what you needed to do before you even _got_ here?"

"That?" Nate and Sophie shared a glance. "That was all Hardison."

Alec's attention snapped to the fore. There was absolutely _no_ freakin' way he'd heard that right. "I'm sorry. _What_?"

"Well, the few letters back and forth gave us enough to start with, but really, it was everyone else's mail that did it."

"How'd you get their mail?"

"We asked for it. Well, not directly. As part of the response, aid organizations were requesting that anyone who got mail from America share what information they could. Several letters written to family members overseas, all complaining of Cornelius' atrocities, did quite a bit."

"Yeah," Nate cut in. "Not only was there good information, like, ah, where he was based and how far his reach went, but since there were so many letters actually making it to their destination, it was easier to get a direct response from the relief agencies. If those letters hadn't gotten out, none of this would've been possible."

Alec closed his eyes. Nearby, Eliot was chuckling, but really, it was all a little much to take in.

\---

 _Finally_ , Nate shut up, stood up and stretched, muttering something about trying to track down a toothbrush.

An amused snort came from the bed. "Nate, you managed to do all this, you managed to score a freakin' _ship_ , with, like, doctors and soldiers on it. You got out of prison and took out a seriously bad dude. And you're seriously saying that you couldn't remember to pack a damned _toothbrush_?"

Nate rolled his eyes as the three of them filtered out, Parker offering to show Nate where the supplies were kept, because she'd spotted them when Eliot wasn't wearing his pants, earlier.

Eliot groaned, lying back down on the cot, and began counting down in his head. _Three…Two…_

"Hold up," Alec waved a tired, hand.

 _One. Here it comes_.

"I slept through you running around pants-less? Someone really shoulda woke me," Alec's eyes drooped closed.

"Yeah, well. Soon as you're up for it," Eliot offered, making sure to sound like he was joking, just in case.

One eye cracked open, and the smile was lazy. "I'll have you know, underneath this here sheet? I'm totally naked."

"Uh huh."

"Just sayin', is all," he insisted, drifting off. "I'm good to go."  



	13. Epilogue

  
"Come on," Parker said to Eliot, catching him loitering on the cot, idly flipping through a British tabloid one of the crew had given him. "Work to do, chop chop," she clapped her hands together awkwardly.

 _Finally_.

He sat up, stretched, and tossed the magazine aside, then changed his mind, setting it on the bed in case Alec woke up any time soon. "Nate put you up to this?"

"Only after Sophie put _him_ up to this. There's still literally tons of stuff that needs to get off this ship, and they want us to find a secure place for all of it." She rolled her eyes. "Like we're supposed to be able to find a location that we can't break into? Please."

Eliot smirked, followed her out towards the stairs. "Yeah. I can't see why they'd want us on it, either."

\---

The doctors were worried about infection setting in. After the first week, Alec was more concerned about the onset of total bugfuck _insanity_.

Eliot tried to make up for it with news from the outside world, and kisses once he'd run out of words, but he'd sided with the doctors, the traitorous bastard.

\---

By the end of the week, the numbers came out.

Thirty-seven people had died in the fight. Eleven of them were locals, and to be honest, Eliot didn't give a damn about the ones who'd fought for Cornelius.

And it could've been worse, Eliot knew it, but another few hours, better timing, and it could have been bloodless.

Once upon a time, even at his most out of control, Nate's plans never would have hinged on people dying in the street. Nate tried to talk to him about it, once, but Eliot hadn't let him. Maybe it was the time in prison, maybe it was the months of hell they'd all gone through, but Nate had changed.

Eliot didn't need a fucking apology. It was over with, done. They'd survived.

\---

The ship was apparently called the Ark Royal, and it was a week and a half before Alec was able to see more of it than one single stretch of ceiling and two caged fluorescent bulbs. It was nice getting out, chatting with Sophie as she pushed his chair, but really, with a name like that, the ship should've been cooler looking. More swirling gold trim and painted walls.

Alec missed painting, now that he thought about it, but the view from the deck kind of sucked, anyway.

\---

It took two and a half weeks for the doctors to finally release him.

The novelty of sitting in the truck was enough that it wasn't until Eliot's muttered, "we're home," that Alec realized they'd pulled up in front of McRory's.

The stairs were a bitch, and there was a funny smell on the second floor landing, but his own apartment looked suspiciously clean. Cleaner than it had probably been when he'd had a functioning vacuum cleaner.

He tried to show his appreciation, finally felt Eliot's skin bare against his own, but after the third time he felt his stomach scream, they gave up, fell asleep on the couch.

It wasn't until he woke up the next morning, though, with Eliot curled around him, that the place felt remotely like home.

\---

Alec really didn't think about it until he was down at the post office, doing the mail. Reaching into the drawer, he came up with an ammo clip instead of a stapler.

Eliot found him sitting in the stairwell a while later, still trying to get his breathing under control. Didn't talk, just sat on the step above him, his breath ghosting against Alec's neck as he took the clip out of his hands, setting it aside.

"Don't need this, anymore. Okay?"

He sounded pretty confident about it, so Alec nodded.

\---

Eliot picked the locks he could, but wound up kicking down a lot of doors, mask firmly in place. It blocked most of the smell, but it didn't help, much. He'd moved bodies before, more than his fair share, so he'd volunteered when the call came out.

In a house over on Chestnut Street, there was a woman. No way to tell how long she'd been there, but it had been a few months. Her face was gone, but the gun was still in her hand.

Behind a locked door in the basement were seventeen children moldering into the floor, walls, into each other. They fell sickly apart in his hands when he tried to move them.

Alec asked him about it when he got home, but he couldn't find the fucking words.

The next morning, Eliot reported for his shift as usual, and wondered why he even bothered.

\---

The first time it snowed, Eliot grumbled and said something about wanting to go to Australia. Somewhere warm. That's all he meant by it. He hadn't thought it would piss Alec off so damned much.

By the time Alec stormed out, slamming the door behind him, Eliot was ready to actually start packing his bags.

Alec apologized first. Eliot followed suit. Nothing was really settled.

\---

Parker left a few days before Christmas, with a glint in her eye that she wouldn't talk about. Said she had something she needed to do, alone, and that she'd be back soon. She promised she'd be careful.

They couldn't change her mind.

\---

They went downstairs for Christmas dinner with Nate and Sophie. Exchanged presents of orange soda, beer, whiskey and wine, and nobody said anything when they caught anyone else looking at the empty chair at the end of the table.

Eliot had no idea what he would have gotten her, but he would've liked the chance to try.

\---

The nightmares never really went away, but they could turn the lights on, now, if they wanted to, during the nights where skin wasn't enough to calm them.

\---

It was nearly noon on New Year's Day. Eliot was half-listening to the shortwave when he heard a woman reporting that as an optimistic gesture, the MoMA in New York had re-opened for the first time since the pulse hit.

" _When they first regained access to the building two weeks ago to begin repairs to the electrical and security systems, staff reported that they'd found nothing stolen or seriously damaged, much to their relief. This morning, however, as members of the public followed staff inside, after a brief speech on the front steps, they were astounded to discover that all the paintings had been removed from the walls, and were arranged on the floors of the galleries. Taken room by room, from top to bottom, the arrangements spelled out the words, "I've missed you terribly."_

The real mystery, it seems, is that absolutely nothing was stolen, and truth be told, many of today's visitors believed it to be a deliberate move on the museum's part, and even an hour ago, one could see children running from gallery to gallery...

Eliot brought the radio with him into the bedroom, shaking Alec awake. He turned up the volume a notch, explaining, "You've got to hear this."

"… _and head curator, Geoffrey Amis, has been quoted as saying that he couldn’t understand why someone would break into the museum only after the security measures were once again in place. The paintings are already being returned to their rightful places, but pictures have been taken and will be on display in the lobby, so that everyone may get an eyeful of this mysterious, but hopeful, message._ "

Alec blinked, still too close to sleep, and probably too hungover, to really understand.

"It's _Parker_. She's _fine_."

Alec rolled his head back into the pillow, smiling. "Least things are starting to get back to normal, right? Cool, cool…hey, we have any aspirin left?"

\---

It was cold out, but the snow had finally stopped and the sky was clear. Bright, too, for this time of night. Wrapping his arms around Eliot's hips, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

"You hear? We're getting the streetlights up next week. Permanently."

"Yeah. Mica said. Almost a shame, though." Eliot leaned back against him. "I mean, that _sky_. Soon as the lights are on, won't be able to see 'em, any more."

Alec blinked, tried to remember what it looked like when the stars weren't so damned bright, and failed. Instead he turned his consideration to Eliot, who apparently was the stargazing type, at least as long as Alec didn't tease him, point it out, or confirm- in any way- that he'd noticed.

Besides, there was this part of him, this small, quiet part in the back of his head, that got nervous when Eliot starting thinking about things that were so far away.

He put a smile on, though, tugged him inside, and did everything he could to keep him here for a little while longer.

\---

The snow was _finally_ starting to melt, and Nate and Sophie were heading out to England. They'd promised they'd be back, but Sophie's eyes had been distant for a few weeks now, like she was trying to see over the horizon.

Eliot couldn't blame her, not really. He got it. The winter had been tiring, long, hard and cold, and three weeks into a winter blackout, well. She could do better elsewhere.

They all could, probably.

"There's room if you want," Nate offered, as five of them cut through the corner of the park. "JFK is opening for business in three days, and we've got the money. Get you all out of here."

Parker scoffed. "Are you kidding? Every secure building in town is upgrading the systems they were using before the pulse, and some of these systems only came out in the last few months. Downtown's _never_ been this fun, and I'm already behind!"

"They're reinitializing the grid," Alec explained, when it was his turn, waving a hand towards downtown with a sidelong glance at Eliot. "I'm helping them with the stabilization, and they're almost ready to get some of the public servers up and running, so… I'm staying. Age of the geek is back, man." He winced, then, like he didn't like hearing himself say it.

Nate nodded. "Eliot? What about you?"

All too aware of Parker's stare and Alec's sudden fascination with the slush at the side of the road, Eliot actually stopped to look around consider.

He could see the burned out school from here, and the apartment building where they'd found seven bodies stashed in the guest room.

 _God_ , he wanted to leave.

There wasn't anything he was needed for, here, any more, not really. Most of the buildings in the area were habitable enough for now. His people were safe. The fighting was done. And the rest of the world was still out there, going.

Soon, though, the ground would be thawed enough to dig, and there would be sod to cut and gardens to plant.

And Alec was staying.

 _Fuck everything else._

"As soon as the internet's set up again, I give it three weeks, tops, before Hardison, here, manages to use it to piss off somebody bigger than him, so…"

Nate and Sophie both nodded, as if he'd been expecting the answer all along, and Parker studiously followed suit.

Alec, however, was stunned. Wary, and Eliot was left wondering, for a moment, if he was going to have to come up with some potentially embarrassing proclamations to convince him.

Apparently his face was enough, though, because a moment later Alec was grabbing his shoulders, pulling him close so quickly that Eliot stumbled right into the kiss.

For a moment, all he knew was Alec's mouth against his own, the shaking fingers threading around his nape, and the suspicion that any minute now, they were both going to fall on their asses.

His suspicions weren't wrong, he realized, landing gracelessly on top of Alec. As surprising as it was, though, his first thought was that Nate wasn't going to let them hear the end of this. His second was that he'd never know, unable to hear much of anything over Parker's snorting laughter.

Sophie, for her part, was starting to make cooing noises behind him, and _damn_ it, now he was pretty sure he was starting to blush. But now that the shock was wearing off, Alec came through with a distraction, sputtering.

"All right, all right, this is awesome and everything, but right now, I have very cold slush soaking through my pants, so- get _off_ me, man!" Eliot rocked back and rose, giving him room to sputter his way back to his feet as he continued. "So we're gonna have to move this party inside. Ah! _Cold_!"

"Ah, think we'll just leave you guys to it," Nate coughed. "But thanks for the invite."

\---

Alec knew he was bitching up a storm all the way back to the apartment, but seriously? This sucked.

Okay, it didn't, not really. Not at _all_ , what with Eliot shoving him forward through the door, _already_ looking smug.

"The hell're you smiling about?" He shouldered off his jacket and tossed it on the floor, hands already moving to his belt, too intent putting a humane distance between himself and the wet clothes to notice much of anything else.

So when Eliot's hand pressed up against his chest, it might have startled him a bit, but that was nothing compared to the _want_ he found in Eliot's eyes.

"I love you," Alec blurted, idiotically, his thoughts rolling right into mitigation strategies before he really had time to notice.

Eliot, though, he didn't miss anything. He froze, for half an instant, and said, "Yeah. Love you too," like it was something he said every day. And then, in a brilliant move designed to fast-forward through the awkwardness, he said, "Pants. Off. Now. You're dripping all over me."

\---

"I bought you a laptop," Eliot admitted into Alec's neck, distracting him through the stretch as he held himself in position, arms bracketing Alec's sides. "Back before it all went down." Alec released a breath, and Eliot pushed in, further. Just a bit. "Had to trade it for passage to the states, though," and a little bit more, and he was in. He let himself sink down his chest was against Alec's back. Kissed him behind his ear, too, deliberately distracting.

He thought that what he meant to say was _I always meant to come back_ but he finished his explanation anyway, "so I still owe you."

"I'll hold you to that," Alec said, a little tense, and his fingers wound in between Eliot's, squeezing tight as he acclimated.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Eliot could feel him breathing, making himself relax. In, out, again, and then, "Okay. _Move_."

So he did. Neither of them said anything that made much sense after that. Not for a while.

\---

Eliot was covered in dirt, and heading straight for the bathroom the moment he was through the door, so Alec followed, talking loudly over the shower.

"How'd it go?"

"Everything's planted," Eliot said, a shadow behind the curtain. " _Finally_ ready to go."

"Cool, cool. Don't know if you're interested, but there's a party going down at City Hall tonight. Kind of a _holy shit, we made it_ sort of thing. Probably going to be one or two boring speeches, but Nate and Sophie managed to bring back a truly impressive amount of alcohol for the event. You down?"

"Huh?" Eliot peered out around the edge of the curtain, scowling in confusion. "Yeah. Maybe." A moment later, he was back again, surprise having taken over. "Seriously? It's been a year already?"

"What do you mean _already_? Man, this was, like, the longest year of my life."

"Only 'cause you're not used to waiting for the mail," Eliot muttered, then cocked his head to the side. "So, what. You're just gonna stand there?"

"I was thinking I might wait here and render my services once you're out. I'm _awesome_ with a towel. Songs have been written."

"Seriously, man?" Alec could see the eye roll through the shower curtain. He was _that_ good, but Eliot remained unimpressed. "We'll just end up needing another shower. You might as well get your ass in here if we're gonna make it down there on time."

\---

They wound up missing the speeches anyway.

They didn't miss a damned thing.

\---

 _THE END_


End file.
